


The Door In Between

by StanleyQuinn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canonical Character Death, Class Issues, Eugenics, F/M, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 78,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StanleyQuinn/pseuds/StanleyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are things you know about, and things you don’t, the known and the unknown, and in between are the doors." -William Blake</p><p>Count Luke Skywalker was quite content - his ward, Finn, is graduating with honors from medical school, Luke's become well ensconced in a quiet bachelor's life since becoming a widower, and while his sister is still quite busy as spymaster for Queen Victoria, she's only interfered in his life enough to keep him from becoming a full on eccentric until now.  </p><p>Commander Poe Dameron has been quite committed to his bachelor life as well, but for very different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hatimoon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hatimoon).



> A million thanks to [Hatimoon](https://hatimoon.tumblr.com/), for goading me into this monster of a fic, then art-ifying it to keep me motivated, and then beta reading and assuring me it was worth posting at all! All the art contained here is hers!
> 
> As with probably most fics in this pairing, existence and inspiration are owed to [leupagus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus) and her fic [To The Sky Without Wings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5609887/chapters/12925093).

The London house has only been open for two days, still smelling faintly of dust and dead air despite his butler and maid’s best efforts, and yet arriving to find the side door ajar somehow just doesn’t surprise Count Luke Skywalker.  A faint odor of cigar smoke drifts through the air.  He sighs and hangs his hat on the peg inside the door with his gloves tucked inside, even though he’s sure his head of the household and valet, Artie, will cluck disapprovingly at his treatment of his belongings.

 

He follows the scent of tobacco and vanilla into the study, where he finds his sister, Lady Leia Solo, wearing trousers and a floppy street hat that conceals her hair, with her feet propped up on his desk, puffing at one of his fine cigars.  Her face is smudged with dirt, likely unrecognizable if you didn’t have the misfortune of being her twin.  “You do remember you are a marchioness, don’t you?” he asks, even as he settles into a chair and puts his own boots up on the desk next to hers.

 

“Only upon the occasions it suits me to remember,” she remarks cheerfully, offering a second cigar to him.  “It’s this or a drink, but I’m about to make you miserable,” Leia informs him when she sees his frown.  He takes the cigar from her and tosses it back in the box, rising and heading for the sideboard with its waiting decanter of whiskey.  He gestures with a tumbler in her direction and she nods, sitting up and moving to the couch to join him.  She doesn’t put out the cigar though, so Luke pours an extra finger into his own glass. She really is going to upset him.

 

“Thank you,” she accepts the drink, and Luke settles in on the opposite end of the couch.  “I’m sure you are probably blissfully unaware, but it has been decided that Rey will be formally introduced to society this season.”

 

He makes a face, quite certain of how his niece feels about that. “She couldn’t talk you into waiting another year?” he asks.  To his surprise, Leia frowns.

 

“Han was certainly willing to cave to the crusade against it we were anticipating, but Rey was the one who decided,” Leia replies.  “And seventeen is well past when we ought to have forced the issue, I suppose.”  She looks thoughtful, so Luke knowingly waits her out.  “Part of me hopes she is in earnest about her declaration that she simply intends to race her brother to the altar, but I suspect she’s determined that once she has a malleable and ignorant husband, or worse, a daftly permissive fool in love with her, she’ll enjoy the greater freedoms to serve queen and country.”

 

“Where on earth could she have drawn such inspiration?” Luke replies, not bothering to curb his sarcasm.  “Speaking of daft fools in love, how is your husband?”

 

Marquis Han Solo, retired army general, is largely regarded by the public as the right hand of the queen, her master of intelligence and spies. Only a few know the real hand behind the crown belongs to his wife.  Han enjoys swanning around the world and doing little unless Leia requires an extra sword and revolver at her back.

 

“Enjoying living in his office,” Leia snarls, and Luke nods knowingly. There are two states in the Solo household – sickening, swoon-worthy love fests and angry tempests of slammed doors and roaring tempers.  “We’ve been entertaining a representative from the Spanish Navy during talks…”

 

“What talks?” Luke asks blankly.  Leia smiles.

 

 

“Exactly.  At any rate, he’s a cousin to Queen Isabella and commander of a small fleet of ships, but is here posing as an officer of little regard.  The damned country appears to be headed straight back to uprising and rebellion, so we need to open lines there.  Therefore, secret talks.  He’s the best, by all accounts, and so far, I’m inclined to agree.  It didn’t present a problem until Rey decided to make her debut.”

 

“He’s unmarried,” Luke observes with a sigh. 

 

The season is trying enough just escorting his own godson to the marriage mart of balls and parties. Not to mention that since the day he was no longer restricted to solemn black mourning suits, he has had far too many mothers eyeing him up as a prospect for some young girl, as if he would be in the market for a new wife, particularly one young enough to be his daughter.  Entertaining company, particularly someone who shares Leia’s affinity for intrigue and assignations, and who will also draw more marriage mart attention to his household, does not sound conducive to the quiet bachelorhood he craves.  

 

“Before you get cranky with me, he’s also a determined bachelor. I suspect Spanish polite society has all but given up on him as he’s reached 2 and 30 without a single romantic assignation to his name, at least in polite society, but we can’t expect English ladies to know that,” she replies.  “I think you’ll get along swimmingly well.”

 

“Couldn’t you just have him lodge at Han’s club?” Luke complains, draining his glass.  

 

“Hmm,” Leia grumbles, drinking from her own tumbler deeply. “It’s possible Han and Lando have had their memberships with the club suspended.”

 

“Again,” Luke says flatly.

 

“There may have been an incident involving the release of live doves during a clay target shoot,” she says cagily.  Luke snorts, amused in spite of himself.  He doesn’t understand the new practice of shooting inanimate objects instead of just heading out hunting.  “And before you suggest it, Lando’s youngest daughters are both out this season.”

 

“Miss Jessika decided to come out too?” Luke remarks, surprised.  Lord Calrissian’s second daughter, Karé, will be in her third season, and from what Luke can tell, she has no intention of seriously seeking a husband, as she enjoys the thrill of the season too much and has turned down four proposals to date.  Her younger sister, Jess, is quieter but has a wicked sense of humor.  She gets on well with Rey, so it may be fortuitous that they both are being presented now. 

 

“Luke, I need somewhere I can come and go without comment, and I need Commander Dameron housed somewhere that isn’t likely to cause a diplomatic incident,” she presses him.  “He’s pleasant company, very plain spoken and easy going.  Han likes him well enough, and if he continues to prove as sharp and resourceful as I suspect he is, I’ve decided to try and recruit him to the League.”

 

The League is Leia’s network of spies, politicos, and military minds from all over the world that run the big show under the table.  Queen Victoria may think Leia works for her, but Leia's machinations are much grander.  To date, League members have averted at least two wars that Luke knows about and arranged one political marriage that Luke would prefer to forget having been involved in helping to bring about.  Luke’s spent the past few years making sure his life and that part of his sister’s life are wholly unconnected.  “Yes, because League level intrigue is clearly something I want under my roof,” he informs her dryly. 

 

“It’s not my fault your wife turned out to be a Russian spy,” Leia scowls at him.  “And you know I gave her a chance to turn herself in.”

 

Luke sighs, rising and going over to the window, hating the reminder.  Their father had arranged the match with Mara, and it had turned out that their own father was playing both sides in the conflict between Russia and England.  He still suspects he should have seen the second betrayal coming, but he’d been blindsided when Leia and Han had brought him the evidence of Mara’s duplicity.  It’s a miracle they’ve kept the general public from knowing anything about either his wife or their father.

 

Leia follows him, tucking herself into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist.  “I’m sorry, that was cruel of me,” she apologizes.  “Luke, I’m desperate.  We need help in Spain, and Dameron is my last chance before we lose the country to rebellion, or worse, all out civil war, like in the States.  He could be an enormous asset if I can bring him into the League.”

 

“And all you’re going to ask of me is my house?” Luke asks, and Leia nods.  He’s not sure he believes her, but he sighs.  “Fine, send the boy over.”

 

“Boy,” she chuckles.  “He’s closer to your age and disposition than Finn’s.  When does your godson arrive, anyway?”

 

“Three days,” he replies.  Luke’s arrival in London was weeks behind his sister because he had gone first to Cambridge to watch the graduation proceedings.  His godson and ward, Finn, is even further behind in his arrival, finishing up his final medical course at Cambridge before becoming a doctor.  Having a profession is unnecessary, given the fortune, titles, and lands Finn will inherit from Luke, but Finn is sharp and determined, so Luke certainly doesn’t plan to stand in his way.  If anyone can figure out balancing the life of a Lord and of a healer, it will be Finn.    “I take it Ben is already in town?”

 

Mara had tolerated Finn’s presence in the house, but Luke suspects that wouldn’t have held true if she’d ever had her own child.   But when she was gone, Luke’s hopes of an heir had evaporated as well, so he’d begun the process of making Finn his heir.  Until Finn’s formal adoption had been completed three years earlier, Ben had stood to inherit all of Luke's lands and titles, along with Han’s.  To say Ben hasn’t warmed to his new cousin is something of an understatement.  It possibly had come to blows at the end of the previous season, though Luke still hasn’t managed to confirm that the subject of inheritance had been the cause of the brawl.  Finn has remained remarkably glued to his honorable silence and protecting his cousin, even after being sucker punched just outside the Windus’ ball. 

 

“Yes, he’s been driving his father mad.  Their quarrels are worse than ever,” she confirms with a groan.  “It’s mean of me, but I am hoping he marries after this season.  Having a wife can only improve his temperament.”

 

“Depends on the wife,” Luke replies cynically.  “When should I expect Commander Dameron?”

 

“I’ll send him to you in the morning,” she promises.  “I’ll inform Artie and Mr. Threep on my way out.”

 

“They’ll be thrilled,” Luke predicts.  His butler will be anyway.  Luke and Finn don’t care nearly as much as their rather anxious butler does about appearances, and a guest will give him someone new to fuss over. 

 

Leia slips out, leaving Luke to refill his glass and wait.  It’s not long before the door to his study slides open to admit Artie, his stout valet and head of the household, who looks in curiously and makes a small throat clearing noise.  “The marchioness has informed me that we’re to have a guest for the season,” he reports, frowning.  Artie’s rather full mustache appears to bristle even more when he’s upset, and right now it looks like a small animal threatening to leap from his face.  “Arriving tomorrow morning?”

 

“I know, Artie,” Luke replies ruefully.  “But you know how my sister gets when she wants something.”

 

“Indeed,” he harrumphs.  “Shall I have the staff prepare the small guest room on the second floor or would the room on the third floor next to yours, with the balcony and railing one can easily scale down be more appropriate for our guest?”

 

Luke smiles, shaking his head.  “Decidedly the third floor,” he replies.  His valet is far too clever for his own good.  “He’ll simply have to learn to live with my insomnia and pardon the arrangement of it as a lady’s room.”

 

“Very good, sir,” Artie sniffs, apparently unimpressed by the sort of individual Leia is foisting off on them this time. 

 

Luke pulls a book out and settles back in to the couch, determined to enjoy his last evening of solitude.

 

* * *

 

The English concerns over reputation are decidedly insane, Poe thinks to himself, stepping out of the carriage after Marquis Solo.  But he hasn’t had much of a reputation to protect in years, and the world is decidedly and absurdly crueler to women than men, so he supposes he’ll defer to Lady Leia on this matter. 

 

“Look, Count Skywalker is...” Solo hesitates, looking back at Poe.  “See, the thing is, my brother in law would very much like to be an eccentric, but my wife refuses to hear of it.  His staff are all definitely eccentric, but he’ll turn you out before you can blink if you’re rude to them.  Just remember his bark is worse than his bite.”

 

“Thank you for that, I’m now much more at ease with the idea of making his acquaintance,” Poe snipes back, making the older man laugh. 

 

“And don’t get on the bad side of his ward either,” Solo advises him cheerfully.  “You’ll never have the man’s respect again.  My son can attest to that.”

 

“Noted,” Poe says, pasting on a smile when a tall, thin man with rapidly thinning hair and overly large spectacles opens the door.  His awkward appearance is further heightened by his garb, a spectacularly ill-fitting suit hanging open over a appallingly large vest with garish gold threading.

 

“Welcome, sirs, please do come in,” the butler greets them eagerly.  “A pleasure to see you as always, General Solo.  And you must be Commander Dameron, I am Count Skywalker’s butler, Mr. Threep.  Please make yourself quite at home, sir.  I’ll show you to the sitting room, then take care of your luggage.”

 

Poe thinks it’s entirely possible the butler managed his entire greeting on a single breath of air, especially given the rapid inhale that follows the brisk speech.  “This way, gentlemen,” the butler says, leading them down a hallway. 

 

The house is plain and simple, showing the signs of recent airing out following long dormancy, and there’s little evidence of a woman’s touch at work.  He’s gathered Skywalker is a widower and childless, raising his orphaned godson as his heir, but beyond that, he knows very little.  When conversations approach the subject of the late lady Skywalker, they abruptly veer into unrelated topics, so something awful is certain to be under it all.

 

The sitting room faces northwest, so the light is faint and grey, the room cooler than most.  The door swings open noiselessly, giving Poe an all too brief moment to observe the man sitting at a table in the room.  He’s older than Poe but has aged more kindly than most his age have, though not from caring a great deal, Poe surmises, judging from the poor cropping of his hair.  His appearance is quite ordinary, nothing Poe would pick out of a crowd a second time. 

 

Skywalker is absorbed in his reading, so entirely focused on his book that he doesn’t stir at their entrance, which bodes well for some peace and quiet under this roof at least, nothing of the sort to be found under the roofs of Solo House.  If Lord Solo, Lady Solo and Mr. Solo have a method of communicating that doesn’t involve invectives at top volumes, they save it for special occasions.  

 

“Lord Skywalker,” the butler greets him, and the man looks up, slightly startled.

 

Poe hastily revises his opinion.  The puzzled eyes blinking up at them are the truest shade of blue he’s ever seen, framed by a long sweep of dark lashes.  Laugh lines crinkle his eyes into something even warmer, and his mouth is red, as though he’s been biting his lips in concentration.  He’s unfortunately gorgeous in all sorts of inexplicable ways, not the least of which is the way Poe wants to take a turn biting those lips himself.

 

“Han, sorry, I lost all track of time,” the Count greets his brother in law, clasping hands with him before Solo simply tugs the shorter man into a quick embrace.  “You must be Commander Dameron.”

 

“Thank you for inviting me, Count Skywalker,” he replies quickly, hoping his face isn’t anywhere near as flushed as it feels.  This is how you got yourself banished to this god forsaken isle, he reminds himself fiercely. 

 

“Well, anything for my niece,” Skywalker brushes it off, though it sits ill on his shoulders.  “Please, sit.  Would either of you care for tea?”

 

They both decline and join him at the table, Skywalker looking curiously to Solo.  “How are you weathering the coming out process?”

 

“Be grateful you have a godson and not a goddaughter,” Solo shudders dramatically.  “Every day it’s some new trial – petticoats, slippers, the state of Rey’s trousseau, fan meanings – who the hell came up with ‘fan language’ anyway?  There’s not an ounce of it that I can make sense of, and Leia’s the only one who properly cares.  Rey certainly doesn’t.  I’ve no idea what my daughter is up to, but it will be trouble, mark my words.”

 

“Noted,” Skywalker says all too cheerfully.  “And what’s this I hear about sabotaging clay pigeons?”

 

“Look,” Solo growls, jabbing a finger in Skywalker’s direction.  “If the totty one-lungs can’t handle real sport, they should stop fopping about the club!”

 

Poe can’t quite make heads or tails of the insults, but he can understand the way Skywalker slides his eyes sideways to size him up subtly.  “What sport is there in shooting inanimate objects?” he shrugs, and Solo chortles, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

“This one’s got a good head on his shoulders, for a Spaniard,” Solo informs Skywalker.  “But quiet, prefers reading to cards with me and Lando and Chewie.”

 

“Sensible,” Skywalker contradicts his brother in law.  “You forget I’ve seen you and Lord Bacca threaten to shoot a man when he cheated during a friendly game without stakes.”

 

“Because it was supposed to be a friendly game!” Solo objects, and Poe has to scramble to suppress his urge to laugh.  “Cheating ain’t friendly!”

 

He covers his mouth for a terribly fake cough now, but he can see from the way Skywalker’s eyes dance, he hasn’t hid his amusement well.  “For a spy, you read like an open book, Commander,” Skywalker says, shaking his head, something dark crossing his features.  “Which means you’ve got deep secrets and trouble in the later volumes, I’d imagine.  Just keep those tales closed and clear of my own while you’re under my roof, and we’ll get along fine.”

 

Poe can feel his pulse pick up unpleasantly, not used to being so quickly read.  “Yes, Lord Skywalker,” he agrees.  Skywalker nods, the darkness lifting from his face, and Solo looks far too relieved.  So much for bark worse than his bite, Poe thinks, narrowing his eyes a little at Solo, who has the good sense to look a little abashed.  Whatever happened in this house, it left Skywalker wary and coiled to strike, and Solo wasn’t nearly as sure of Poe’s welcome as he had pretended to be.

 

“I’ve had Artie and Mr. Threep prepare the room next to mine for you, Commander,” Skywalker tells him, politeness restored abruptly.  “I felt you would prefer its large windows and balconies, but apologize in advance for any disturbance you may experience from my own restless tendencies.  I rarely sleep.”

 

“I’m prone to insomnia myself, so please don’t concern yourself,” Poe replies, tucking away the knowledge carefully. 

 

He catches himself cataloguing half a dozen other little details about Skywalker before he forces himself to stop, a little irritated that his usual iron clad self-control seems to have fled in the face of a pair of gorgeous eyes. 

 

Solo takes his leave, and Skywalker shows Poe to his rooms.  “The staff here is small, just Mr. Threep, whom you met, my valet and head of household, Artie, who you’ll probably meet when he returns from the market, the maid, Miss Oola, and my chef, Mrs. Tekka.”  Skywalker pauses, frowning slightly.  “Some households have a liberal policy regarding serving ladies, but that isn’t this house.  Our policy is absolutely do not.”

 

Poe fails to hide a smirk at how very little Skywalker has to worry about that.  “No worries, sir,” he says, shrugging.  “Any chance you can find a way to extend that policy to the endless parade of ladies I’ll be introduced to at the balls and parties your sister no doubt intends to drag me to?”

 

Skywalker snorts, shaking his head.  “Commander, I haven’t found a way to convince half those women that I am not in the market for a bride.  You are quite on your own, I’m afraid.” 

 

“And in worse shape than you, no doubt, having failed to have married at all yet.  I clearly cannot know what I am passing up, unlike yourself,” Poe remarks, and the older man’s shoulders stiffen ever so slightly, strengthening his suspicion that Skywalker’s distrust of him is somehow linked to whatever unpleasantness surrounds the man’s late wife.  “But rest assured I have no intention of marrying an English rose and will do my damnedest to steer clear of any young ladies who might disrupt your quiet house.”

 

Skywalker’s lips curl in a bit of a smile as they turn onto the third floor landing.  “Are you simply disinclined to marry, or have you been put away on the shelf should your cousin have some political need arise?”

 

“I quite like that, do you think claiming a political shelving would put off many?” Poe wonders, laughing when Skywalker rolls his eyes.

 

“It’d likely only encourage the wrong sort,” Skywalker quips dryly, making Poe laugh harder. 

 

“I suspect you are correct, unfortunately,” Poe concedes.  “But it has a kernel of truth, I fear, as no marriage of mine would ever be approved by Her Majesty.  She intends I end alone in a sailor’s grave or in the chaste embrace of the church.  I’ll not take holy orders, so here I am.”

 

Skywalker seems puzzled, then apparently arrives at a conclusion.  “Would your heirs have any real claim, or is she just that frightened of rebellion?”

 

“Spain is besieged by endless rebellion,” Poe agrees, grateful for the easy evasion.  “Heirs with even the smallest ounce of royal blood could become a threat.”

 

“Seems quite unfair to you, though perhaps the larger truth is that you are disinclined to marry and therefore disinclined to protest?” Skywalker asks, opening the farthest door from the stairs for Poe. 

 

The room is surprisingly warm, linens and draperies a deep forest green hue.  The wall shared with what must be Count Skywalker’s room has a well apportioned fireplace, likely mirrored on the other side, and a connecting door.  It’s easy to spot that these rooms must have once belonged to Countess Skywalker.  His bags are waiting at the foot of the bed, and the wardrobe has been left propped open for him.

 

“Dinner is at seven,” Skywalker says, offering a faint smile before slipping away. 

 

Poe sinks gratefully into the quiet reprieve, needing time to collect himself.  He hadn’t seen Skywalker coming, though perhaps he should have.  It’s been nearly four years since he’s had any real interest in another man at all.  He tries to console himself that being overdue like this means any attractive man would have awakened his interest.  The memory of those eyes and the sly smile call him a liar.

 

* * *

 

Commander Dameron proves to be exactly as quiet as advertised, though he matches Luke’s dry humor well enough that he proves to be good company as well.  It’s not unusual for Luke to find the Commander lounging on a couch in the library, but he tries to make sure not to disturb him.  Dameron is loose limbed and utterly at ease until Luke disturbs him, then he sits up too straight, military formality reasserting itself.  If Luke remains and manages to engage the commander in a debate, he becomes animated and expressive again, so he makes sure to stay when he does disturb Dameron.  There’s something about the formal version of Poe that bothers him.  Perhaps it’s just one mask too many, or perhaps he’s just getting to like the man underneath so much better.  Luke can see why Han gets on well with the Spaniard, with his quick wit and bright laughter, and if it weren’t for the fact that he knows the man chooses makes his profession in spy craft, he’d be just as taken with the young man.   Then again, given the unappealing choice between the church and military service, Luke can’t claim to know which he’d prefer. 

 

He doesn’t realize how high his opinion of Commander Dameron has grown until he enters his parlor three days later to find Finn, newly arrived and sitting with a handkerchief pressed against his split lip. Commander Dameron stands over him while Artie clucks disapprovingly at both of them as he hands a cloth full of ice chips to the commander to press against his knuckles.  Surprisingly, he doesn’t assume the worst of Dameron automatically.

 

“What in god’s name…?” he starts to ask, and Finn brushes aside his temper with a quick wave of his hand.

 

“I apologize, Lord Skywalker.  Your nephew, Mr. Solo, has quite a nasty lack of honor, and ambushed your guest as he arrived,” Commander Dameron begins in a rush, and Luke can feel his frown growing as he regards his godson.  “I somehow suspect my intervention will not have improved his temperament any either.”

 

Finn chuckles, standing and hugging Luke.  “I’m fine, Luke,” Finn insists, pulling away the handkerchief, the cut still bleeding sluggishly.  “I was unloading my bags.  Ben may have gotten in a blow while I was unaware, but this gentleman here had fortunately had just stepped outside.”  He presses the handkerchief back against the cut, and Luke notices the embroidery is Commander Dameron’s initials, not Finn’s.

 

“Terrible way to meet,” Dameron quips, examining his knuckles.  “And I confess, I didn’t even recognize it was young Mr. Solo until after I rushed to defend your guest, Lord Skywalker.”

 

“My ward and heir, as a matter of fact,” Luke remarks, enjoying the honest surprise on Dameron’s face.  He and Finn looks as different as night and day, to put it mildly, but somehow Luke had thought the commander might be among the rare few to peg the relationship.  Then again, he supposes the commander had been rather distracted.  “Finn Skywalker, this is Commander Poe Dameron, of the Spanish Imperial Navy, and our guest for the season.  Commander, my godson.”

 

They both exchange too bright grins and handshakes, the comradery of partnerships created in a good brawl always hot and lasting, Luke has found, thinking of Han.   “Will you now tell me what this feud you and Ben have going is about?” Luke asks, keeping his tone cool.  “Is this about your inheritance?” Finn’s face doesn’t change, so he tries again.  “A lady?  Have you crossed each other over a romance?”

 

Finn scowls, shaking his head.  “It will sort itself out, I promise,” Finn informs him.  “I’ve got to unpack, see you at dinner.”

 

Luke looks to Dameron, who seems awfully damned amused.  “You have an idea what this is about?” he asks, and Dameron smirks at him.

 

“If I happen to have stumbled into your ward’s confidence, it would be fairly disloyal of me to disclose it so quickly, my lord,” Dameron says all too innocently.  “I certainly wouldn’t want you to believe I couldn’t be entrusted with your confidences.”

 

Luke blinks, a little surprised and amused in spite of himself.  Dameron has managed to stumble headfirst and make a joke of things everyone skirts around with him, and somehow, he’s done it in a way that doesn’t sting but instead makes Luke want to laugh.  “And why, pray tell, would I be taking you into my confidence?” he asks. 

 

“Never know when you might need a friend willing to throw a right hook,” Dameron replies, voice solemn, but his eyes are sparkling with laughter. 

 

“I’ve got Han,” Luke tries, and Dameron laughs outright.

 

“Yes, so if you need someone shot, you’re well in hand,” Dameron agrees, making Luke laugh as well.  “Excuse me, Lord Skywalker, I should probably send a brief note of apology to your sister.”

 

“Call me Luke,” Luke invites him, before he can think too hard about it.  “Any man who steps up in defense of my godson has earned the right to use my Christian name,” he adds, when Dameron looks quizzical.

 

“Luke,” Dameron repeats, sounding fond.  “Then you should call me Poe.”

 

The younger man nods farewell before loping up the stairs, and Luke shakes his head, trading a weary look with Artie.  “He got blood on the cuff of his shirt,” Artie observes drolly. 

 

“Must have laid Ben out properly,” Luke agrees, feeling a little envious.  Finn had been adamantly against Luke evening up the score last fall. 

 

“You could try to sound a little less enthusiastic,” the valet remarks, unamused, and Luke shrugs.  His nephew is in dire need of a sound thrashing and a lesson in humility, perhaps followed up with a side speech on how to be kinder to the world.

 

He heads for the library, penning his own quick note to his sister, conveying his dismay that once again their heirs have come to blows and imploring her to share any insights she might have.  He dashes in a careful and casual mention of his gratitude to Poe for stepping in, knowing the younger man is probably worried about causing a diplomatic incident, then sends it off with Poe’s own note.

 

Artie looks utterly bemused by the whole thing, while Mr. Threep and Mrs. Tekka have clearly come down in Poe’s favor, as they prepare his favorite dessert instead of Finn’s at dinner that evening.  Finn pretends to give Poe a side eye, but takes in stride as he usually does.

 

“We’ve an invitation to dine at the Calrissians tomorrow, you’re invited as well, Poe,” Luke tells them, and Finn lights up.  He and Miss Karé are fast friends.  “Miss Jessika is being presented next week, undoubtedly Lando’s hoping to toss her into your path so you can keep her out of trouble like you did for Miss Karé last season.”

 

“Miss Karé, or I suppose it is properly Miss Calrissian now that her elder sister is wed, is preparing a full slate of trouble for herself this season, and I’d rather steer quite clear of both ladies before I find myself accidentally promised to both of them somehow,” Finn retorts.

 

Poe chuckles, and Luke turns an assessing gaze on him.  “No,” the Spaniard says quickly, half choking on his laughter.  “No throwing me in the path of eligible ladies either, Lord—Luke,” he stumbles and blushes faintly over the familiar address.  “I thought we had a bachelors’ understanding here!”

 

Luke laughs just as brightly, catching Finn looking at him oddly.  “What?” he asks, a little self-conscious.

 

Finn’s smile softens further, and he shrugs.  “Commander Dameron, I think you’re a terrible influence on my godfather,” he declares, shifting the subject without answering, though Luke understands the young man’s implied meaning.  It has been a long while since he’s laughed this way, but Poe brings out something lighter in him, something he’d been sure had vanished when Mara died.  “Lady Calrissian will not be amused if she finds you’re helping him maintain his bachelor state.”

 

“Should I be alarmed?” Poe asks.  “I’ve only met Lord Calrissian, and at the time, he seemed quite cowed by Lady Solo’s presence.”

 

“He and Uncle Han have been causing trouble again?” Finn asks knowingly, and Luke nods. 

 

“Live doves at the club’s clay target shooting party.”  Finn laughs loudly, shaking his head.

 

“Then Lady Calrissian will be twice as fierce and frightening as usual,” Finn predicts, glaring when Luke gives him a sideways glance.  “I’m not marrying Miss Jessika.” Luke opens his mouth, and Finn adds quickly, “Or Miss Karé.”

 

“Life would be so much simpler for me if you’d just marry,” Luke says sadly, making a show of sighing heavily.  “I could stay happily in the country except for the week or so every summer they need me to appear in the House of Lords.”

 

“You’d become eccentric on your own,” Finn replies, jabbing a fork in Luke’s direction.  “Your life would be simpler if you remarried, you know.”

 

Luke scowls, amusement cut short.  “Not a chance,” he says, sounding a little prissy even to himself.  “Marriage is a game for younger men, not old idiots like me.”

 

Finn takes his leave after dinner, joining some friends for a game of cards at the club, and while he invites Poe along, the commander declines, following Luke to the library instead.  He ushers Luke to the couch and takes charge of the after dinner brandy, making Luke smile faintly.  “You do remember you’re a guest here, do you not?” he asks, even as he accepts the snifter from Poe.

 

“You’re the one complaining of being old and infirm,” Poe teases him.

 

“I said nothing about infirm!” Luke objects, his solemnity dropping away almost immediately.

 

“Idiocy implies you question your mental fortitude, so I simply inferred,” Poe replies, sitting down next to Luke.  “You’re not nearly old enough to be unmarriageable, you know.  You’ve decades to go before you reach that pinnacle,” he adds, a little less teasingly.

 

“My late wife,” Luke frowns, eyeing Poe over his glass.  “How much of her history have you been acquainted with?”

 

“None at all, though I have pieced some things together,” Poe admits. 

 

Luke sits back, lifting a curious eyebrow.  “Go on, I’d like to see just how clever you are,” Luke remarks, not entirely pleasantly.  Poe clearly catches the warning tone, then squares his shoulders, breathing deeply before he begins laying it all out.

 

“No one wants to speak of her, and no one dares to speak about honest confidences around you, so I suspect she betrayed you in some way.  You’re noticeably tense when anyone mentions my profession, which leads me to suspect her betrayal was not a personal one, or at least not only a personal one,” Poe spells out slowly and carefully. 

 

Luke holds his face impassively, hating that Poe scans it and seems to find an answer to the unasked question with ease anyway.  “Given the timing, and what I know about your father, it would seem she was also a spy, also for Russia?” Poe asks it, but then nods, once again scooping the knowledge up from some tiny crack in Luke’s expression.  “I’d never want to marry again either,” Poe concludes.  “Christ, I’d be hard pressed to be convinced to take a lover ever again at all.”

 

The blasphemy, the mention of unwedded relations, and the raw honesty in Poe’s voice all take Luke by surprise, not at all fitting the image of the man as a papist he’s crafted. “Well, you’ve ferreted out all my secrets, haven’t you?” Luke asks, taking a deep swallow of liquor as though it might wash the bitterness from his voice.  “I could claim that it seems most unsporting and ask you to give up something in return, but you’ve discovered just how well I know that any secret in the hands of someone as clever as you can become double edged, and even facts can become less than true.  So perhaps it’s best I simply take my leave.  Goodnight, Commander.”

 

Poe remains silent for a long moment, then nods once, a quick jerk of his head.  “Goodnight, my lord.”

 

* * *

 

Midnight arrives and flees, but Poe can’t settle, agitation leaving him shaky and on edge.  He can’t figure out why the hell he’d risen to Luke’s challenge that way, when he’d known it was a bad idea, known it would cost him every inch he’d gained with the other man.  It was undoubtedly one of the stupidest moves he’d ever made.

 

He gives up after laying down for a third time, rising and pacing to attempt to dispel a bit his nervous energy, then pauses, hearing something on the other side of the fireplace.  A scratch of wood across wood as a chair is dragged out, followed by Luke’s heavy booted footsteps, not much more than the faint thuds of sound through the wall.

 

He bites his lip, considering for a long moment, then walks to the adjoining door, tapping it softly.  His knock is so soft Luke can easily choose to ignore it if he wishes.  If he hears it at all.

 

There’s a long pause, silence, where Poe holds his breath, and then bolt turns over and the door opens slowly, Luke looking at him, puzzled.  “I’m the most loyal family Queen Isabella has,” Poe tells him hoarsely.  “And she hates me so much I am sent away, even though she has no one else as loyal as I am to hold her up any longer.  So I’m here, trying to prop her up from afar.  And even if I succeed, I’ll still be despised.”  He pauses, taking in the soft sadness in the older man’s eyes.  “And now you have one of my secrets.  Perhaps it will twist with what I do or become less than true, but I couldn’t bear not trying at least to make us equal once more,” he says finally. 

 

He starts to step away from the door, and Luke reaches out, setting a hand on his arm to stop Poe.  “I can’t sleep either,” Luke says.  “Perhaps a hand or two of cards?”

 

Poe nods, unable to stop his relieved smile as he follows Luke down to the sitting room, both of them too quiet, but companionably so, playing until Poe finally begins to yawn.

 

* * *

 

Karé Calrissian takes one look at Commander Dameron and latches on with a surprising amount of determination.  Luke thinks Poe tolerates it remarkably well, even settling in with Karé, Jess, and Finn for a discussion on a theory of avionics, of all things, which he decides he doesn’t need to rescue his friend from.  Instead he settles in with Lando, filling him in lowly about the scuffle between Ben, Finn and Poe.

 

“Ben Solo scarcely seems recognizable these days.  I can’t find the good natured lad under all his anger and lack of manners,” Lando agrees with a sigh.  “But I can’t make heads or tails of the whole affair, I’m afraid.  Given the way he gives offense almost as easily as breathing these days, he could have run crossways of your ward far too easily.  I’ve never met anyone as determinedly honorable as your godson.”

 

“Well, save your compliments, he’s declared no interest in marrying either of your daughters,” Luke retorts dryly, making Lando laugh loudly.

 

“My friend, I’m quite relieved.  Finn’s far too accommodating for them, he’d be wrapped around even Jessika’s baby finger in a heartbeat,” Lando replies.  “Karé will elope to Gretna Green with some terribly wealthy man when she finally gets bored enough.”  Luke makes a horrified face, but Lando just shrugs.  “It could be worse.  At least I know my daughter will only marry when it suits her to cause a scandal then live comfortably without concerns.  How many fathers would love such forewarning?  And Jessika I suspect will find someone she won’t feel bad about molding into her dutiful sop and forging her own life of comfort.  Not Finn, she him likes too well for that.  What about your guest, Dameron?”

 

Luke considers Poe as he laughs at something Jess has said.  It’s the first time Luke has seen Poe in his uniform.  It fits him like a glove and transforms him into a handsome gentleman who doesn’t seem to exist when he’s in his usual attire.  The jacket buttons from neck to naval and creates the illusion of a man with upright posture and straight laced zeal, utterly banishing his usual lazy charm and sprawling limbs.  The uniform makes him seem dangerous in a way that he normally takes great care to hide.  Luke absolutely despises it.

 

“Determined bachelor,” Luke replies.  “As determined as I am, it would seem, but with better excuses.  He’s been put on the shelf thanks to politics in Spain, as I understand.”

 

“And he’s not rich, so Karé will stay clear of him,” Lando remarks, shrugging.  “Excellent, I was hoping we could continue having you to dinner and still avoid unpleasant things like courtships.”

 

“I feel I’ve just survived an interrogation,” Luke says, and Lando laughs again. 

 

“You escaped one, my friend,” he replies.  “My wife had intended to try her hand at this discussion.”

 

Luke chances a glance over again, this time finding Poe’s eyes meet his own immediately.  Something Jessika says draws him back in though, and Luke can’t help but think that for a determined bachelor, Poe is surprisingly winsome when it comes to conversing with young ladies. 

 

But Poe bows out of the conversation, carefully and deftly extracting himself, and he joins Luke and Lando without any fuss.  “Oh, he is good,” Lando observes, folding his arms as he leans back.  “It’s almost a pity I can’t foist him off on one of my daughters.”

 

“I heard that,” Poe grumbles, sliding into a chair at their table.  He indicates the cards, long since abandoned.  “Are you actually playing and able to deal me in, or were you just enjoying leaving me marooned with the young and terrifyingly rebellious?”

 

“Never a more accurate description of my daughters,” Lando agrees, gathering the cards which they have indeed been neglecting.  Luke watches Poe carefully, uncertain why the younger man has joined them when the younger members of the party had clearly been just as entertaining, if not more so, but Poe simply plays his hand, smiling openly when he catches Luke’s gaze on him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Poe finds Luke in his study with the balance books spread in front of him and winces even as he clears his throat to draw Luke’s attention.  “Oh, good evening, Poe,” Luke says, blinking owlishly.  The lenses perched on his nose make his eyes appear enormous and bright and more focused on him than ever.  Poe loathes them immediately.

 

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Poe starts, and Luke shakes his head, gesturing to a chair.

 

“The disruption isn’t an unwelcome one,” Luke admits.  He removes his spectacles, rubbing at his eyes.  “I suspect if I had continued on much longer without a break, I would see numbers in my sleep for weeks.”

 

“I’ve already informed Mrs. Tekka, but I felt I should probably inform you as well,” Poe says slowly, tilting his head as he considers it.  “And now that I think about it more, perhaps you would prefer I never again do this.  I’m afraid I’ll likely miss dinner, I have an appointment of a… sensitive nature this evening.”

 

Luke lifts an eyebrow.  “How likely are you to take a knife in the back?” he asks, and Poe smirks.

 

“No worries, my lord, I’m quite careful,” Poe replies. 

 

“Which means it is a possibility,” Luke remarks, seeing through Poe with his usual precision.  “Where are you off to, Poe?”

 

“Taking a meeting with a member of a potential rebellious faction,” Poe admits, shrugging at the glare that earns him.  “My outcast status makes many suspect I’d be sympathetic, so it’s good for something.  I can refrain from informing you in the future if you’d prefer, but given your generosity in opening your home to me when you clearly would prefer never to entertain anyone of my profession again…”

 

“No, I appreciate knowing,” Luke agrees, taking a deep breath as he regards Poe.  “You’re an odd fellow, Poe.  I sometimes feel I know you better than anyone I’ve ever known, and other times, I can’t make your character out at all.”

 

“That’s probably a good thing,” Poe’s self-deprecation kicks in before he can check himself.  “Those who truly know me best want little to do with me, and I rather enjoy our acquaintance.  Good night, my lord.”

 

“I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Luke,” the older man complains, even as he turns back to his arithmetic.  Poe grimaces but slips away without comment.  Maintaining his distance is easier when he uses titles, and he desperately needs to maintain some distance. 

 

“Can I come?”

 

Poe whips around, finding Finn watching him from the stairs.  “Come?” he asks, aiming for innocence, and Finn scowls.

 

“You’re headed out on some secret rendezvous, aren’t you?” Finn asks, and Poe mentally curses the lad’s perceptiveness.  “I’d like to learn.”

 

“Your godfather would string me up by my own intestines if anything happened to you,” Poe replies and earns a too bright grin in return.  

 

“Best not let anything happen to me then,” Finn replies.  “Come on, Poe, I’m an adult.  I’ll just follow you anyway.”  Poe has no doubt he could lose Finn’s tail easily, but who knows what trouble could find Finn while he tries to follow Poe.  Hell, the birdie he asked to follow him tonight might just knock Finn out and leave him in the gutter without giving him a chance to explain.

 

“Go change, get a jacket, try to look less like a lord and more like hired muscle,” Poe instructs him, pinching the bridge of his nose.  This family will be the death of him, he’s sure of it.

 

He waits, considering whether or not he should go and tell Luke, but in the end, that’s Finn’s decision, not his, and with any luck, Finn will find he doesn’t like intrigue after all.

 

Finn comes back down in grubby clothes, and after rummaging through the coatroom, emerges with what can only be one of Mr. Threep’s hats, as Poe has never seen such an ugly thing, and a very old and ill-fitting overcoat, which Poe suspects actually may be Luke’s, but it certainly does the trick.  “Come on, before your godfather catches us and skins me alive,” he grumbles. 

 

They cut across the park, through marketplaces, skirt along the river, and by the time it gets dark, Poe has steered them toward a back alley entrance to an unmarked pub in the Jewish section of Whitechapel, a full six miles from Skywalker House.  Finn seems unamused by the sheer amount of walking they’ve done, but by Poe’s count, taking it in a little under three hours is barely a stroll.  On his own, he certainly would have hired a carriage or caught the mid-London Rail for a piece of it, but he is hoping to bore Finn at least a little. 

 

“What on earth are we doing here?” Finn whispers, and Poe grins.

 

“Meeting someone who absolutely does not want to be seen with the likes of you or me,” Poe replies.  “Go to the bar, order us both the Brakspears Bitters.”

 

“I don’t like Bitters,” Finn starts to say, then understands.  Poe appreciates how quick his friend is. 

 

He heads for a table in the back, well secluded and shadowed, then takes inventory of the bar.  The gentleman in the far corner is waiting for a lady of the night and easily dismissed.  The drunk at the bar takes a bit more study, but he seems to be genuinely too far into his cups.  The four men at a round table are arguing quietly about gambling wagers and look as worried about Poe’s presence as he is about theirs.  He resolves to keep an eye on them. 

 

Finn places his drink on the table, sitting next to him, and Poe relates his observations to him in a low whisper.  “Couldn’t they just be worried you’re a copper?” he asks, looking over at the four men, who do seem to have quieted a bit since Finn joined him.

 

“Probably,” Poe agrees.  “But I’ll keep an eye on them while we’re here.”

 

Another half hour ticks by before a man joins them, setting his own pint of bitters on the table and nodding at Poe.  He’s dreadfully plain looking, with a round bowler hat and a bushy black beard.  He is decidedly not the man Poe is supposed to be meeting, and now having Finn at his side is an advantage, in terms of numbers, and a disadvantage, because he will be Poe’s weakness if it turns into a fight.  “You’re Dameron, then?” he asks, and Poe nods shortly.  “Your friend?”

 

“It’s a rough part of town,” Poe says in lieu of an answer.  “Your friend didn’t honestly expect I’d come alone, did he?”

 

“Fair enough,” the man agrees, before switching to Spanish.  Finn blinks in surprise, but to his credit, doesn’t ask. 

 

Poe allows the man to detail a number of particulars Poe already knows, in terribly broken Spanish, and answers in much too rapid Spanish for the poor man’s broken language skills, before Poe finally takes pity on him.  “Your Spanish is an assault on my ears, sir.  I’ll vouch for my companion to save my sanity, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

The man looks concerned, but Poe waits him out.  They’ve traded all the usual pleasantries that place Poe squarely in the column of a revolutionary, so now he tests how badly the man wants to play the game.  “Your cousin’s position couldn’t be weaker, Dameron, but our movement lacks a true leader to rally behind.”  Badly enough, it seems.

 

“You aren’t Spanish though, so you’ve piqued my curiosity.  What’s Russia’s stake in this?”

 

Finn looks taken aback, but Poe can almost see the way he slots the pieces together.  A Jewish bar, in a heavily Polish and Russian neighborhood, the man’s broken Spanish.   He could be Polish, but it’s unlikely.  Russia is the heavy hand on the world stage.  “A political marriage.  Like your cousin, we understand the value of removing temptation from cousins, of establishing them in other lineages that would prove advantageous to Alexander.”

 

Poe frowns.  “You mean Nicholas,” he corrects, and the man shrugs.

 

“I suppose it could benefit him as well, but the path we need to clear for other political alliances is that of Alexander,” the man replies.  “For example, the next tsar would be better served by marrying his brother to Austria or Norway following his own alliance with Denmark.”

 

Poe blanks his face carefully, nodding once.  “I understand,” he replies.  “And the proposal has some merits.  Would I be able to think on it some and meet with some of my countrymen in the meantime?  I would still like to hear the disposition of the movement from them, not that it hasn’t been terribly enlightening meeting with you.  It certainly… opened my eyes on some issues.”

 

“Of course,” the man exclaims cheerfully.  He and Poe speak a little longer, carefully promising ways to arrange a further meeting, but the Russian clearly thinks Poe is giving it some serious consideration.

 

On their way out of the pub, Poe catches the eye of his birdie, whistling out a little tune in the quiet night to ensure the Russian will be followed.  By tomorrow morning, he’s fairly sure he’ll have a name and address for the Russian.  He’s not sure if Finn spots the birdie or not, but Finn says nothing when they make their way out of Whitechapel, scowl finally slipping free once Poe hires them a carriage to bring them back through London and provides the direction for General Solo’s residence.  “You aren’t…” Finn starts, and Poe grins.

 

“What, considering picking up the reigns of rebellion and risking my neck for the crown?” Poe asks, and Finn deflates.

 

“Why go along with it then?” Finn asks, bewildered.  “It didn’t sound like any sort of plan or intrigue worth pursuing.  That man barely gave you anything that could be worked with!”

 

“I expected it to be a dead end,” Poe agrees around his frown.  “But there were two things that make me take it very seriously.”

 

“They sent a Russian,” Finn guesses, and Poe nods.

 

“A show of support from outside the country, that’s worrisome,” he agrees. 

 

“The offer of a political marriage?” Finn asks, and Poe shakes his head.

 

“Not uncommon, I’ve had them before,” he admits.  “Anyone hoping to wield a savvy hand over Spain has considered me.  It was his reference to Alexander.  I think that man was testing out my thoughts of assassinating Nicholas, the Russian heir apparent.”

 

Finn jolts, looking alarmed.  “So we’re going to see Lady Solo?” he surmises, and Poe smiles in satisfaction.

 

“I wondered if you knew which of them actually pulled the strings,” Poe remarks.  “Yes, this seems like something worth bringing to her attention, in spite of the late hour.  Can you refrain from fighting with Mr. Solo?”

 

“Ben should still be at the club with his friend, Mr. Hux, at this hour,” Finn replies.  “They stay at the gaming tables until late.” He perks up a little.  “Miss Solo should be in.”

 

Poe resists the urge to say anything, a little surprised by the way that thought perks his friend up.  He wasn’t aware that Finn was a particular friend of Leia’s daughter, but a number of suspicions are forming in his mind. 

 

The driver departs, and they’ve barely made it to the door before a young lady in an exquisite emerald dress tugs it open, grinning widely at them.  Her hair had probably been beautifully plaited at some point earlier in the evening, but most of the dark locks have slipped their pins, and curls bounce around her slim shoulders. 

 

Oh, Poe thinks, amused in spite of himself.  Lady Rey Solo is exceptionally beautiful, even he can see that, but the way her whole face lights up when she spots Finn is truly something to behold. “Commander Dameron, Mr. Skywalker!” she greets them, dipping in a curtsy almost deep enough to be proper, but she’s too quick about it and too eager to see them.  “Do come in!  The staff have all gone up, but I heard the carriage stop.”

 

“Rey,” Leia scolds her daughter, giving Poe a wary look.  “Commander.  And you’ve brought Mr. Skywalker.  How odd.  Come through to the library.  You as well, Finn.  I’m sure my daughter can find a hole to eavesdrop through and doesn’t need you filling her head with tales of your adventure.”

 

“Yes, my lady.” Finn at least has the good sense to look abashed as he falls into step with Poe. 

 

“What in the blazes are you doing, running around with a Spanish spy?” Leia demands, cuffing Finn’s ear once the library door closes behind them.  “Your godfather raised you with more sense.”  She drops Finn into a chair with enough force to make it creak ominously.

 

“Seemed sensible to learn where learning was offered,” Finn remarks, and Poe frowns, feeling a bit thrown in the path of Leia’s anger.  It’s certainly not how he would describe Finn commandeering his outing, but he supposes he can't leave his friend hanging either. 

 

“He’s a grown man, and if Luke decides to skin me alive, you’ll just have to find another Spaniard to work with,” Poe answers her glare cheerfully.  The use of Luke’s Christian name earns him a flicker of surprise.

 

“You better have something to show for this, Dameron,” she growls.

 

Leia doesn’t appear nearly surprised enough when Poe fills her in, but she does look thoughtful.  “I’d heard rumors that there might be an attempt on Nicholas, but it would be to our benefit so it hasn’t been something I pursued,” she admits.  “Alexander is much more of a reformer than his brother.  But dangling their feet into the waters of Spanish rebellion is a strange move.  What do you make of it?”

 

“This cousin they want married off, it could be a bribe,” Poe replies.  “She learned of their plans, so they tell her 'keep quiet about our plot, and we’ll make a crown for you as well'.”

 

“Very likely,” Leia agrees, sighing.  “And for you to marry, her majesty would have to be removed from power, so it reels you in with quite a bribe too, Russian royalty.”  She eyes Poe as her mouth tilts upward in a smirk.  “But a Russian princess isn’t going to tempt you, eh, Dameron?”

 

Poe had figured that Leia saw right through him from the start, but her sly comment in front of Finn puts his guard up, especially when he has no idea how his friend might take such a revelation.  Fortunately it seems Finn doesn’t understand Lady Solo’s sly jab in the slightest.  “No, my lady,” he replies stiffly. 

 

“Hmm,” she murmurs, turning on Finn.  “Finn, would you excuse the commander and I for a moment?”

 

Finn looks a little startled, but at Poe’s nod, he moves to leave the library.  He pauses for a moment when he opens the door, and Poe swallows a chuckle when he spots a sweep of green crinoline sweeping away ahead of Finn.  

 

“My brother doesn’t like anyone,” Leia says as soon as the door closes, not mincing her words.  “And yet here you sit, the epitome of everything he loathes, and you have been given use of his Christian name after less than a fortnight.  Don’t try to deny it,” she adds, when Poe opens his mouth, a hint of a smile on her lips.  “You wouldn’t take liberties with it.  And when you punch my son – yes, we should have words about that – he then writes me in your defense.”

 

That surprises Poe, and he knows it shows on his face because Leia looks far too smugly amused.  Discussion of violence seems like the safer topic suddenly.  “I’d apologize for punching your son, but he did hit Mr. Skywalker first.”

 

“Luke asked me to look into the source of their conflict,” Leia tells him.  “I assume it’s the inheritance?”

 

“Perhaps,” Poe agrees politely, and Leia’s eyes flash. 

 

“Fine, be a cagey bastard,” she dismisses him with a sniff.  “And Poe?  If you decide to seduce my brother, you'd best be quite honorable about it, as much as such things can be.  I know thousands of ways to kill you which ensure the pain will last for days.”

 

“I don’t think your brother is interested in being seduced, certainly not by me,” Poe replies flatly, standing.  “And I’ll thank you not to mention any such nonsense to him.  Good evening, my lady.”

 

He heads out of the library, relieved to find Finn and Rey some distance from the door and not listening at the keyhole.  “Commander,” Rey greets him, voice full of laughter.  “Will I see you at the Bacca’s Ball this weekend as well?  I’m terribly excited, it will be my first!”   

 

He looks over at Finn, whose grin actually seems more luminescent.  “I have already claimed the first dance on Miss Solo’s card,” he informs Poe, chest puffed quite full of pride and delight.

 

“Then I shall have to beg the last from you, Miss Solo,” Poe offers gallantly, just to watch the way the smile slides off Finn’s face for the briefest of moments.  Christ, he should definitely let Luke know about this.  Finn is clearly smitten.

 

“The last is yours, Commander,” Rey agrees with a musical laugh of delight.  “I’m looking forward to this.”

 

He’d dismissed the carriage when they’d arrived, so he and Finn finish their journey back to the Skywalker House on foot.  “You’re not planning to court Miss Solo, are you?” Finn asks bluntly, and Poe smiles, appreciating his friend’s directness.

 

“No, not at all,” Poe replies.  “But I will dance with her twice at the Bacca’s Ball, because it’s polite and not doing so would be spoken of as much as if I danced with her a third time, you understand?”

 

Finn nods but the faint confusion doesn’t leave his face.  “I’m here on the sufferance of your queen and mine, which precludes any possibility of courting and marriage,” Poe reassures Finn.  “Besides, the lady clearly prefers you.”

 

“Really, you can tell that?” Finn lights up, and Poe struggles with his urge to make a face.

 

Artie waits at the door for them, and Poe feels his stomach drop.  Finn’s absence clearly has been noticed.  “I can speak to him first if you want,” Poe offers, but Finn shakes his head.

 

“No, this was my decision,” Finn reminds him.  “Probably better if you aren’t there, to be honest.”  Poe nods and effects what he tells himself is a very dignified retreat upstairs. 

 

He’s just finished entering a coded account of his evening into his journal when a sharp rap of knuckles breaks the stillness.  The knock isn’t at his closed hallway door, but rather at the adjoining door.  He tucks his quill into the journal to mark his progress, then walks to the adjoining door, surprised to notice the door wasn’t relocked after their last discussion at this door.  He braces himself, then opens it to admit a small tornado of angry energy.  “Did you even think about telling me before you took off with him?” Luke demands.

 

Poe really should know better, but the words slip out before he can help it.  “Considered and decided against in fact,” he replies, sense only kicking in once Luke shoves him against the wall, his forearm pressed tight against Poe’s collarbone – not injuring or choking him, but a careful threat of both implied.  His own hands fly up automatically, but he stops himself, holding them so they’re just resting against Luke’s chest in case he does move, but not attempting to break Luke’s hold.  “Your godson is an adult, and he was safer with me than if he’d tried following me on his own,” Poe says carefully.

 

“Really?” Luke says, huffing disbelievingly.  “You all but admitted to me that you were in danger tonight.”

 

“I was probably safer with him around,” Poe counters, but that doesn’t alleviate the flash of anger in Luke’s eyes.  “If he had followed me, someone would have taken offense, either someone wanting to protect me, or someone wanting to hurt me.  If he was with me, I could keep an eye on him and if anything had gone sideways – and it didn’t – I could protect him.”

 

Luke’s face calms, but his arm doesn’t move away, and Christ, Poe would really like it if Luke moved away before he becomes any more aroused by this.  “And if something had happened?” Luke asks.

 

“Then it’s likely I would have had to put someone in a pine box,” Poe says coolly.  “And I would have, to ensure it wasn’t your godson.”

 

Luke’s arm relaxes, his hand splaying over Poe’s chest for a moment before Luke lets go finally, stepping back and looking as though he’s surprised by his own actions.  “You’re right, Finn’s an adult.”

 

“Given your relations, it’s a surprise he hasn’t wiggled his way into more outings like this one before,” Poe observes cautiously.

 

“No one else would dare go against me on this,” Luke replies, but it comes out almost amused.  “Have you ever met a line you didn’t barrel right across, Poe?”

 

Poe feels his breath hitch, skin still warm from where Luke had kept his arm pressed against Poe’s chest.  “Yes,” he says softly, touching his breastbone reflexively.  “So very many lines.”

 

* * *

 

Luke’s skin won’t stop buzzing, so he walks downstairs as the clock inches toward the dawn hours.  There’s a good storm raging outside, and the rain always adds to his restlessness.  When he’d realized Finn had gone with Poe, he’d been ready to fly after them.  Only a stern reminder from Artie that he’d put them in danger if he went after them had kept him grounded. 

 

Finn had been firm in his resolve to continue tagging along with the commander when the other man allowed it, and only apologized for not being upfront with Luke about it.  The best Luke had been able to pull from him was a promise not to be evasive about it in the future.

 

Poe was just as bad, Luke thinks, chuckling as he remembers how Poe had looked so brazen and utterly unapologetic.  Then again, Poe could easily have turned the tables on Luke, but he’d let himself get pushed around, to lance Luke’s bubbling temper.  Some part of Luke regrets not pushing further, seeing how far Poe would have trusted his control and let him push. 

 

But that isn’t what sticks under his skin, nagging and demanding his attention.  Poe’s soft honesty before bidding him good night, painfully strange with downcast eyes, has caught in his mind, and somehow, it makes him ache with something akin to sympathy, even though he has no clue what has prompted the feeling.

 

He’s good at finding his way around the house in the dark, making his way to the library easily and only lighting a lamp once he reaches it.  The desk is surprisingly strewn with pencils and charcoals, an artist’s tools, but neither he nor Finn practice the craft.  A sheaf of papers in a leather wrapping sits open on the table, the sharpening knife for the pencils weighting down the sheets inside.  Curious, he moves the knife, smiling as he recognizes the likeness of Mr. Threep on the page.  It’s mostly finished, though he can see heavy white strokes, unblended and still in progress around the left ear and shoulder. 

 

He sets it aside, finding completed drawings below it, Finn, Artie, Leia, and then one of him.  His own portrait stops him, surprisingly dark, he muses, before recognizing how many lines have been drawn and redrawn, nothing satisfactory or complete about this drawing, unlike the others.  A second version, even heavier, with hasty unblended lines raking out the drawing sits beneath it.  Unlike the rest of his family, whose images are quite striking, it seems Poe has trouble capturing his face.

 

“It’s the eyes.”

 

Luke hums curiously as he looks up, finding Miss Oola, already awake and laying the fireplaces, so sunrise must loom much closer than he thought, though the sun certainly will not shine through the deluge outside the windows.  

 

Miss Oola is a quiet slip of a woman who rarely speaks, but no one in the house presses her to, which may be why she’s stayed with the household in spite of more lucrative offers over the years. 

 

“Commander Dameron said your eyes are impossible to convey in charcoal, but he hadn’t brought any proper paints with him, so he would have to remain unsatisfied with the effort,” she explains, flushing slightly at the curious look Luke gives her.  The heavy scars that slice across her still beautiful face stand out more when she blushes.  “I found several others he threw in the fireplace for kindling.  It seemed a pity, he really did seem to capture your lordship’s features quite well.”

 

* * *

 

The Bacca’s ball arrives, and Poe still hasn’t managed to forewarn Luke about his ward’s affections for Miss Solo.  To be fair, he’s had a busy week, tailing the Russian and meeting with a couple of Spanish contacts.  With any luck, he decides, Luke will spot it immediately for himself that night.  He steps out of the Skywalkers’ carriage, swallowing down a resigned sigh at the absolute crush of people making their way into the stately manor before them. 

 

“Cheer up, it’s only the first of many,” Luke teases him.  He seems to have found some sort of terrible delight in having someone at his side who is equally miserable at the prospect of parties.  “Besides, we’re in friendly territory here.  Han will have set aside the best liquor for us, and Chewie always has quieter side rooms for cards and gentlemen’s conversations.”

 

Lord Bacca is easily the largest and hairiest man Poe has ever met, with an uncontrolled red beard that sprouts from his chin and likely only ends at his waist from frustration of it getting caught in his lordship's belts too often.  His speech is heavily flavored with the lilt and slang of the Highlands, and makes Poe all too keenly aware that English isn’t his native tongue, his understanding strained beyond measure.  It is unfortunate, because the gentleman seems more affable and delighted in the world than anyone Poe has ever met.  If Lord Bacca has a Christian name, it seems his friends have all forgotten it in favor of his strange moniker, Chewie.

 

Inside the ballroom is no better than the reception line.  The honor of the first ball of the season after all the presentation galas means everyone who is anyone has determinedly elbowed their way inside, eager for the prospect of meeting this year’s newest eligible ladies in a more sociable setting.  Poe can’t for the life of him figure out how Finn, no taller than he is, spots the tiny Solo ladies in the crowd, but he follows him to join their party immediately. 

 

Rey’s dance card proves to be nearly full to bursting, so Poe and Finn quickly sign their names to an additional slot each while Luke, Leia and Han trade pleasantries.  “I may ask you both to take me out to the gardens for a walk instead,” she confesses.  “I had thought to dance every dance, but the room is so hot, and there’s so many people,” she muses, fanning herself carefully.

 

The music starts up so Finn escorts Rey away, and Leia snaps her fan at Poe.  “You aren’t planning to dance every dance?” she teases him, and he makes a face at her.

 

“Should I sign my name to your card, my lady?” he teases her, reaching for her wrist and laughing when she snaps her card out of his reach.  “Will your husband kill me?”

 

“Thank you, perhaps,” Han puts in dryly, trading an all too knowing look with Luke.  “You missed Lord and Lady Antilles.  I believe she has a widow friend, Lady Mothma, recently out of the blacks she was hoping to introduce you to.”

 

“You would not believe the bribes I will offer you to head that off if I get caught,” Luke says to Poe, who laughs, even as the plea tugs all too pleasantly at his gut.  “Name it and it’s yours.”

 

“Careful, Luke, lesser men have accidentally sold their souls to Poe that way,” Leia remarks.

 

“It’s true,” he agrees, feigning sadness.  “Once a man sold me his soul for nothing more than a cup of wine.”  They all laugh at that.

 

Poe spots Ben Solo, surprised to find him talking with a very tall and very stately blonde woman.  Her dress is a daring grey satin that plunges off her shoulders in a far greater arc of skin than any other lady present.  The fashion seems ill matched to the rest of London’s elite, but the make is so exquisite, Poe immediately pegs her a foreign noble of some sort.  Her face is too cool, determinedly unimpressed by everything around her, but she listens to Ben with some measure of focus that Poe wouldn’t have expected. 

 

The gentleman with Ben, a red haired and cross looking man, matches Leia’s description of Ben’s best mate, Mr. Hux.  The woman he speaks with couldn’t be more different from Ben’s lady except that they share the same cool disdain for the world around them.  Her dark hair gleams in its plaits, above a beautifully brushed sky blue gown that is a stitch for stitch perfect match to the current height of London fashion.

 

Lando and his family join them, and Poe secures a dance on Jess’s card before turning around only to find Karé has obtained her mother’s permission to offer him the waltz.  “You know I’m never going to court you,” he reminds her in an undertone even as he signs his name on her card. 

 

“That’s why I’m offering it to you, idiot,” she replies dryly.  “A soldier’s salary certainly won’t suit me, but you’re more than pretty enough to make anyone who would suit me play the game harder.”

 

“Miss Karé, I pity the gentleman who suits you,” Poe replies, but smiles so she takes the compliment. 

 

“You’re also far too sensible, Commander,” she replies, eyes twinkling merrily.  “I do hope you can waltz as prettily as you jest.”

 

There are far too many introductions after that, and a few too many ladies who are suddenly quite eager to renew their acquaintance with Lady Solo after he dances with Jess.  She grins with wicked delight and forces him through every last introduction.   The nonsense only redoubles after he dances with Rey.  He does manage to learn that Ben Solo’s friend is supposedly one Baroness Minka, Polish nobility.  He has his doubts after hearing her accent, his ear well trained by his recent excursions.  The lady is likely Russian, but he reminds himself that there could also be any number of reasons, some quite practical, for concealing that fact in England.

 

He’s prevented from musing on it any further by Miss Jessika introducing him to one of her friends, Miss Connix, who giggles rather nervously and incessantly.  Poe feels a headache rising by the time he extracts himself from their conversation and looks around frantically for cover with Leia or Han.  Instead he finds Luke, hugging the wall behind him.

 

“That offer of anything you want in exchange for a save?” Poe mutters to Luke as he joins him, having to lean in surprisingly close just to be heard.  “Consider it mutual.” 

 

Luke laughs, leaning back against the wall.  He opens his mouth to respond, but then suddenly tugs Poe remarkably tight into his personal space, their hips touching.  Poe’s breath catches, surprised, then he sees Luke casting a hunted look over his shoulder and catches on.  “You are not that much shorter than me,” he objects through his laughter.

 

 

“I will take every inch of hiding you have to offer, Dameron,” Luke replies wickedly.  Whomever he wanted to dodge must move on, because Luke heaves a dramatic sigh of relief and lets go of Poe's arm.  “I guess I owe you one,” Luke remarks, and Poe is hard pressed to keep the smile on his face friendly with his libido so thoroughly heightened by the past few minutes. 

 

“Careful, I’m known to collect those and parlay them into claiming something dear,” Poe reminds him.  Luke looks startled for some reason, but Poe can’t consider it further, as Karé joins them, clearing her throat pointedly as the band begins playing a waltz.

 

“Excuse me,” Poe says to Luke, letting her drag him away.

 

* * *

 

Luke watches Poe get tugged away by Karé, mind still ticking and turning over oddly.  Poe’s expression when they spoke seems stuck just behind his eyelids, his brain turning it and turning it against the cogs in his mind, some detail he can’t nail down nagging at him.  “Luke?” Leia asks gently, spotting his frown, and he offers her a smile, seeing the too worried wrinkles around her eyes.

 

“It’s fine, just something I can’t quite put my finger on,” he tells her.  She nods knowingly, but offers nothing, which makes him frown harder.  The advantage of having her as a twin is that she often can tell him what he’s missed.  But if she knows, she’s apparently not inclined to enlighten him this time.

 

“You’ll figure it out, I have faith in you,” she teases him gently, and that at least reassures him that whatever is troubling him about Poe, it isn’t serious enough to warrant her meddling. 

 

He claims a dance with his niece, to appear sociable if nothing else, and marvels at the way her whole face has lit up at being part of this nonsense.  Her gown, some sort of fussy pink satin, moves with a surprising amount of ease, her mother’s hand hard at work, he sees.  She’s as enamored of the whole affair as he is ill suited to it, but at least with Rey around, he can appreciate it a little more.

 

He gets trapped in the start of what could be an endless conversation with a woman whose acquaintance he knows he’s made, but whose name has quite escaped him, when Poe swoops in, pressing a glass of whiskey into his hand.  “There you are, my lord,” he says, smiling winningly at the woman, but somehow also conveying a kind dismissal.  “Lord Solo has been trying to corral the pair of us for a conversation on the trade routes, and I promised to retrieve you.  Pardon me, my lady.”

 

Luke turns with the slight touch of Poe’s hand, feeling his shoulders slump in relief as he lets the younger man guide him away from the crush of the ballroom.  “That’s two you owe me,” Poe quips, sounding delighted.  “What is the going rate on an Englishman’s soul these days?”

 

“At least four,” Luke replies dryly.  “Did Han really send you?”

 

“No, so you’d better have some idea of where one of those secret quiet rooms of Lord Bacca’s is located or my lie will be discovered quite quickly,” Poe admits sheepishly, and Luke laughs, leading the way to where Han will by now being holding court with a number of gentlemen and probably have a friendly game of cards going.  Chewie takes away their whiskey and presses glasses of something even stronger into their hands when they arrive, and Poe looks a little surprised, but drinks it when Luke does.  He probably should have warned Poe about Chewie’s moonshine, which could get the strongest Irishman drunk, but he’s somewhat curious to see what Poe’s like when drink loosens his composure.

 

By evening’s end, Luke’s quite content to drowse in the carriage on the way home, leaving Poe to deal with Finn’s exuberant retelling of everything he was sure Poe had somehow missed.   Poe’s just enough in his cups, Luke suspects, that he’s going along for Finn’s retelling of the terribly interesting things he missed by hiding away from the ballroom, nodding enthusiastically.  Finn doesn’t seem to be focused in on any particular lady, to Luke’s dismay.  He may have to resign himself to a third season of this if his niece continues to prove more interesting than any other lady Finn meets.

 

The carriage stops, and Poe lingers back as Luke climbs out, letting Finn head inside ahead of him, smiling faintly and shaking his head.  “You could have earned back one of those favors by speaking up,” Poe murmurs quietly. 

 

“I was despairing over the continuance of season after season if he doesn’t meet someone interesting,” Luke replies.  “He spoke more of his cousin Rey than any of the other young women he danced with.”

 

Poe opens his mouth, looking quite odd for a moment, then shakes his head.  “ _Lo bendiga, olvida. No es su propia sangre._  I’ll let you figure this one out,” he remarks nonsensically.  “It’ll be more fun.”

 

“What will be?” Luke asks, handing off his hat and gloves to Artie as they step inside. 

 

“No, you’re the one owing me favors, I’ll keep my secrets tonight,” Poe calls over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs.  Luke catches up to him on the third floor landing, where a single lantern is lit, but the wick is trimmed too short, so it sputters, leaving the hall dim with shadows dancing along the walls oddly.

 

“So what will you cash your favors in for?” Luke asks, drawing Poe into conversation even though he should let the man go.  They’re both languid with exhaustion and heavy limbed with drink and will likely sleep for once, a rarity between them, but something about Poe has been gnawing at Luke all night, and he isn’t ready to let it go just yet.

 

“I am a man who wants for very little,” Poe replies, puffing with bravado, and Luke snorts.

 

“You’re a better liar when you haven’t been drinking,” he observes.

 

“True, _in vino veritas_ ,” Poe recites.  Latin now, Spanish before, Luke thinks nonsensically.  His Latin is terribly rusty or he might have gleaned something more from Poe’s rambling in his native tongue other than the word blood.  Maybe it was about Ben and Finn’s fight?

 

Poe slumps against the wall, perhaps a little more drunk than Luke had previously suspected.  Poe reaches out, straightening Luke’s cravat with a gentle touch, and Luke huffs out a laugh, all thoughts of language translations flitting away.

 

“I’m about to remove it, you needn’t straighten it,” Luke says as he pushes Poe’s fingers away. 

 

“Right,” Poe agrees, and that odd look is back on his face, smile somehow too soft and amused, eyes a little too hooded.  Poe lists a little as he starts to straighten up, and Luke presses closer to his side, worried his friend might fall.  Poe wraps his fingers in Luke’s cravat again, using it to tug him closer, and the tumblers in Luke’s mind all click into place just before Poe’s mouth presses softly against his. 

 

For one indulgent, breathless moment, Luke stays frozen in the kiss, too shocked and confused to process it properly.  His entire body feels too hot, like walking into a fire warmed room after spending too long in the snow, and when he reaches out, instead of pushing Poe away, he grasps hold of Poe’s arm to steady himself, simply allowing the kiss for a moment.

 

It’s been too long since someone has held him, since he’s felt the heat of someone’s touch, and Luke’s shocked to find he wants that, wants it badly.  But all too quickly, he remembers whose lips are pressed to his and why he can’t have _this_.  He wrenches back suddenly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did to give you the impression,” he starts, and Dameron nearly trips in his haste to back away.

 

“No, my fault.  I’ve had far too much to drink, I didn’t even know where I was for a moment.”  He’s biting his lower lip.  Luke can’t guess where the certainty springs from, but he’s absolutely sure Poe is lying to him, feeding him exactly the lines he thinks Luke wants to hear.

 

“We’ll forget it,” Luke suggests, relieved when Poe also nods, suddenly looking surprisingly sober.

 

“Forgotten,” Poe agrees, almost blithe as he waves off Luke.  “Good night, my lord.”

 

Luke nearly gasps when he gets the door shut behind him, every piece of his body alight from the all too brief touch.  He’s hardly a good Christian, hardly Christian at all, but he’s certain he knows why this feeling is damnation.  “Forgotten,” he reminds himself desperately.  “Forget all about it.”

 

Sleep is suddenly a long time in coming. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [the pic that launched the Victorian AU that dare not speak its name.](https://hatimoon.tumblr.com/post/143356012966/the-pic-that-launched-the-victorianau-that-dare) The incomparable Hatimoon was still in a sketch phase on it at that point, inspired by [this post](https://tmblr.co/ZblFKy23YgHyF) and I outlined a sketchy idea about a Spanish Spy Poe and Lord Skywalker, along with Spymaster Leia. I told myself I wasn't going to write it.
> 
> I lie to myself a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Poe and Luke steer clear of each other for several days quite successfully.  Poe accepts a number of Finn’s invitations to join his friends at the club along with a handful of other dining invites, the sorts of things he’d previously avoided.  Luke also knows Poe is doubling down on tracking the names and addresses for dozens of minor fish in the conspiracy he’s uprooting, Spanish and Russian alike, even though he’d let his informants throughout the city handle such work normally.  He doesn’t tell Luke directly when he departs on these missions, only leaving word with Artie if Finn doesn’t come along. 

  


Finn keeps his word to tell Luke when he goes along on a number of the shadier trips.  Luke forces himself to stomach listening to Finn’s excited rambling retelling of these trips when he returns home, smiling when Finn excitedly explains that not only did Poe trust him to meet one of his birdies, another spy, but he knew where she could be found now, something she’d kept from Poe, even though it makes his knuckles clench till they turn white.  He’s not sure why, but even when he can’t bring himself to face Poe, he still trusts the man to protect his godson.

  


Luke, for his part, finds himself accepting more invitations to speeches and political discussions during the day, which has Leia giving him a strange side eye when they run into each other at the House of Lords.

  


“Should I be worried?” she asks, sounding amused, and Luke pointedly ignores her attempts at prying.  Actually he ignores her all together, practically running to catch an acquaintance so that he can avoid her questions.  Leia is too damn perceptive and persistent, and she’d wiggle this secret out of him in no time, given how it stays so constantly with him, reliving it every time he closes his eyes.

  


He gnashes his teeth that evening when Mrs. Tekka informs him that Poe was quite forcefully summoned to dinner with his sister that evening.  Sometimes Leia just doesn’t have enough to do on the international stage, and he, Han, Ben and Rey all seem to suffer the consequences. 

  


So it’s a bit of surprise almost a week later when he stops to remind Mrs. Tekka that Mr. Kenobi will be dining with him that evening that she chuckles approvingly.  “Good, a full house then,” she remarks, and he pauses.

  


“Finn and Poe will be in this evening?” he asks, surprised.

  


“Even lads like them must run out of energy for the city life sometime,” she reminds him, shrugging.  “I wouldn’t have thought the commander would have such a taste for it, but then again, perhaps it has more to do with his work.”

  


“What is tonight’s menu?” Luke asks, suddenly a little concerned.  “I suddenly find our table badly balanced.”

  


“I doubt Commander Dameron is the type to take offense, he’s not so Catholic as to have even been to services since arriving.  Though I suppose there are precious few priests here to hold services,” Mrs. Tekka frowns as her own words start catching up to her.  “You may have a point, sir, I’ll add the commander’s favorite dessert to the menu, try to soften any offense the dinner conversation may cause.”

  


Luke stews over whether or not to give Poe some sort of advance warning, but in the end, his cowardice is never addressed as Poe and Finn haven’t yet returned to the house when Reverend Ben Kenobi arrives.  The younger men likely will only just turn up in time to dress for dinner, Luke suspects, continuing Poe’s cycle of deft avoidance.

  


“Luke,” the reverend greets him, ignoring the offered hand and quickly embracing Luke.

  


“Ben, I’ve missed you,” Luke greets his friend.  “How are things at home?”  Ben Kenobi has been the minister in the Skywalkers’ parish since before Luke’s mother’s wedding.  The late Count Skywalker had never spoken of his deceased wife, so all Luke and Leia know of her came from Kenobi, who grew up with her.  Kenobi had also done more to advance Leia and Luke’s education as children than their own father had done.  Anakin Skywalker could best be described as disinterested when it came to his children. In the end, when Luke stacks his father’s betrayal against Kenobi’s affection, it seemed best for his sanity to embrace how Kenobi seems closer to a father than Anakin. Perhaps it informs why he finds it all too easy to consider Finn as dear as if he were actual blood kin.  He certainly believes he loves Finn as dearly as he would a flesh and blood son.

  


“The parish stumbles along quite well without you during the season,” Kenobi replies, every wrinkle on his face deepening in amusement.  “Though I know you’d certainly prefer we insisted on your presence year round.”

  


“Pray Finn finds a bride, and we’ll make it happen,” Luke grumbles, making his mentor laugh. 

  


“But not you, my lord?” Kenobi asks, eyes twinkling even as he accepts the drink Luke offers him. 

  


It’s not unusual for Kenobi to tease him about his love life, or lack thereof, but something about the kiss he can’t forget, not to mention this affection for Poe he can’t shake, prickles over him uncomfortably and makes his usual laugh catch oddly in his throat.  “The more I see of these things, the more certain I am that it’s a terrible idea,” he says, shrugging. 

  


Kenobi tilts his head curiously, but a sudden shout of laughter from the hallway prevents him from asking anything further. Poe and Finn noisily head upstairs to change for dinner, and Luke can’t help smiling.  Apparently he was wrong, and the younger men are both home plenty early.

  


“I take it Finn is still not enamored of any particular lady?” Kenobi guesses.

  


“I fear he holds them up in comparison to his cousin, and few ladies are as intelligent or beautiful as my niece,” Luke remarks, and Kenobi laughs.

  


“Few are as outspoken or as enjoyable of company as Miss Rey either,” he agrees.  “Perhaps you should hope instead that she finds many like-minded friends this season, and then she takes pity on your godson and introduces him kindly.”  Kenobi looks thoughtful.  “Your sister mentioned you have a Spanish soldier housed with you for the season.  Do you know, is he a papist?”

  


“Aren’t all Spaniards?” Luke asks curiously.  He had thought the religion mandated by queen and country.

  


“Come now, you know there is a vast gulf between directed observance and devout belief,” Kenobi chides him gently.  “To be honest, I’m hoping he’s at least something of a believer but not too much of one.  I have several theological questions that I’ve long wanted to discuss with a Catholic, but I’m afraid I’ve been without someone to discuss these issues with since my good friend Father Yoda in France passed away last year.”  Kenobi looks askance at Luke.  “So you’ve not spoken religion with him at all?”

  


Luke shakes his head, and Kenobi smirks.  “It seems there is also quite a gulf between casual observance and true belief.  Have you finally taken up the study of survival of the fittest as proposed by Mr. Darwin then?”

  


“Are we discussing Mr. Darwin?” Poe enters the room, looking amused.  “Atheistic discussion when you’ve a man of the cloth under your roof, my lord?”  He feigns shock, but there something dark glittering in Poe’s eyes as he looks from the ministerial collar at Reverend Kenobi’s neck, over to Luke, then sharply away again. 

  


“Reverend Ben Kenobi, my friend Commander Poe Dameron,” Luke introduces them, not sure what to make of the sharp aversion of Poe’s gaze, especially when Poe grins quite amiably at Reverend Kenobi and shakes his hand.

  


“Have you read _Origin of the Species_ then, Commander?” Kenobi asks, and Poe nods as he sits, waving off the drink Luke starts to pour for him. 

  


“I have,” he admits.  “First a rather poor Spanish translation, so instead I slogged through the English about a year ago.  I can’t pretend my English is nearly fluent enough in the sciences to fully comprehend all of Darwin’s evidentiary language, but between the two, I feel I grasped enough of the ideas.”

  


“My good friend, Father Yoda, a priest I knew in Normandy, and I were corresponding on a notion we held regarding Mr. Darwin’s theories,” Kenobi says, and Poe lights up for a moment.

  


“Do you mean Father Yoda from the parish at Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise?” Poe asks, tone lightening with something like wonder.

  


“The same,” Kenobi confirms, also lighting up in the way that a mutual acquaintance can bring to two strangers.  “Were you acquainted?”

  


“If you’ll not let mention of it slip to my own parish priest, I shall own the acquaintance quite gladly,” Poe replies.  “Though I have to confess, I have been away from my own home so long I could not point the man out to you on the street, so perhaps I have no worries.  Father Yoda though… you know he was almost excommunicated for his radical ideas?  Death claimed him before the charges could gain any real traction.  It was a terrible loss to the faith in my view.  I stayed in his church for a number of weeks when I needed sanctuary in… 1861? 62?  Thereabouts.  And I found his world views fascinating.”

  


“And what was a simple soldier doing in France that required sanctuary?” Kenobi asks, looking mildly alarmed, and Poe grins broadly.

  


“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Reverend.  Is that the correct formal address?” Poe frowns, looking to Luke for the first time during the discussion.  “I’m obviously unfamiliar with how your faith works.”

  


Luke feels a bit like he’s missed a step with Poe, like the younger man must be angry with him, even though on the surface his manners are perfect.

  


“Reverend is just fine,” Kenobi reassures Poe.  “I was curious if you were a practicing Catholic, but Luke didn’t know.”

  


“I’m afraid the social demands of the season make getting well acquainted, even with one’s host, nearly impossible,” Poe covers easily, but the implication that Luke doesn’t know Poe very well stings worse than if Poe had been outright cruel.  “I was raised Catholic, but like many of my contemporaries, I’m afraid my practice waxes and wanes with the holy days.”

  


“But you do have faith?” Kenobi asks, and Poe shrugs.

  


“Every soldier has faith,” he retorts.  “My difference of opinion is not with God, but rather with catechism.  I suspect whatever question you’re itching to ask me about may fall under the latter.”

  


“Not at all, I’m something of a heretic myself, which is why Father Yoda and I were friends,” Kenobi replies.

  


Finn enters, catching the last and groaning.  “No, we are not debating the relevance of the Old Testament,” he insists, even as he shakes hands with Kenobi.  “Reverend, how’s the parish?”

  


“Missing you, young man,” Kenobi replies.  “Between your studies and the season, we hardly see you these days.  Do your godfather a favor and marry already so we can have you home for the summers at least.”

  


Finn just laughs at that to Luke’s dismay.  “We’ll see, Reverend, we’ll see.”

  


“What brings you to London, Reverend?” Poe asks.  Finn offers a drink to him as he fixes his own, and Poe nods, accepting the glass from Finn.  Luke presses his lips together to keep from frowning.  Poe is definitely deliberately freezing him out. 

  


“I come once a year, meet with the church solicitors, the bishop, and call on all my parishioners trapped here for the season,” Kenobi admits.  “Mostly business, but I find my families appreciate the visit as well.”

  


“Rare parishioners,” Poe mutters, and Kenobi laughs, to Luke’s surprise. 

  


“I take it you aren’t on good terms with your own priest?” Kenobi asks, and Poe shrugs.

  


“I’ve made what peace I need to with God, that will have to be good enough,” he replies cagily.  “I’m quite fond of science, and art, and far too broad a sampling of humanity, all of which puts me at odds with my… with queen and papacy,” he corrects, and Luke smiles faintly in spite of himself.   

  


Kenobi doesn’t seem to have caught the slip though, as he starts to pepper Poe with questions about reconciling Darwin’s scientific notions to theology, which Poe engages in with a surprising amount of vigor, quite enthused by the idea that natural selection might be another tool of God’s will.  Finn puts in a few thoughts as well, surprising since Reverend Kenobi usually can’t engage Finn’s interest at all when it comes to theology. 

  


“Of course, even this discussion would be enough to call you a heretic in my faith,” Poe quips, making the reverend throw back his head and laugh.

  


“Truth be told, not so many in my faith wish to hear of it either,” Kenobi replies.  “I’ve sorely missed Father Yoda’s acquaintance and insights over the past year, so it’s a pleasure to meet you indeed, Commander.  Can I ask a terribly rude question?”

  


“My favorite kind,” Poe replies, smiling quite delightedly before he presses his glass against his lower lip, not drinking yet.  Luke’s gaze catches, transfixed.

  


“How is it a soldier who clearly dismisses most of his catechism is so familiar with it?” Kenobi asks, and Poe smiles knowingly, now taking a sip, buying himself a moment’s thought.

  


“Yes, my family, one cousin in particular, tried to steer me to the Church for my profession,” he confirms.  Poe can’t quite cover some flash of emotion in his dark eyes, though Luke can’t nail down what he sees there.  Too soft to be called anger, but bitter and pained nonetheless.  “I actually attended seminary for the better part of a year before determining I was hopelessly ill-suited to it.”

  


“Too bad,” Kenobi remarks.  “I suspect your definition of ill-suited would match my definition of exactly what most religions need more of.”

  


Dinner passes in a blur for Luke, Finn having taken the lead in the conversation when Reverend Kenobi asked about his medical studies, which Finn could talk about endlessly when given an opening.  Poe for his part adds just enough to fade to the back of the conversation and only looks at Luke once, something faintly curious lingering in his eyes now, his temper seeming to have dimmed.  He excuses himself just after dessert, nodding a little curtly to Luke before he departs.  Finn departs shortly after as well, leaving Luke alone with Reverend Kenobi for brandy and cigars.

  


“I like your friend.  You should probably apologize for whatever slight you gave him,” Kenobi remarks to Luke once the study door has swung closed behind them.

  


“Hmm, he seemed in a temper to you as well?” Luke asks, hating the sinking feeling the older man’s confirmation of it causes.

  


“I’ve seen wives less effective at freezing out husbands,” Kenobi jokes.  “He is quite better at it than anyone I’ve met in a long time.  A spy like your sister then?”

  


“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Luke denies it.  “As for our disagreement, let us call it a misunderstanding of each other’s boundaries.  I thought we had moved past it, but it seems I should make a bit more of an effort after all.”

  


“Close quarters and the season can do that,” Kenobi agrees, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Luke, if there were anything at all you needed to discuss, I would be right here.  You know that, correct?”

  


Luke can’t even begin to think of how to try addressing his concerns about any sexual relations with Reverend Kenobi, let alone those with another man, but nods gamely anyway. 

  


After Reverend Kenobi departs, Luke retires upstairs, listening to the sounds of Poe moving restlessly on the other side of the door.  He listens for longer than he probably should, knuckles pressed silently against the wooden door, trying to work up the courage to knock.

  


It probably shouldn’t surprise him, but he jumps clumsily back when the footsteps in the other room suddenly come straight toward him.  There’s a long moment of silence before Poe raps on the adjoining door.  Luke breathes deeply, trying to calm his fluttering nerves, then pushes the door open.  Poe’s hair is rumpled, as though he’s been tugging it, and his bottom lip is red, too red.  He’s been worrying at it with his teeth, and suddenly all Luke can think about is taking a turn creating the same flush in Poe’s lips with his own mouth.  He wants to know how it would taste.

  


He banishes those thoughts firmly, trying to look curious.  “I had assumed the Reverend was a veiled reminder to keep my distance,” Poe admits, whispering harshly.  “And now I’m less certain.  Do I need to find other lodgings?  I can invent an excuse your sister will believe.”

  


“It was simply poor timing,” Luke says quickly, breath catching.  “I meant no slight to your Catholicism or to warn you away from… from anything,” he finishes lamely.  “Ben… the reverend… he’s closer and more filial than my own father ever was.  He calls on me often when I’m at my home in the country.  Fate simply dealt his visit onto the first night you dined here since…” he trails off, and Poe nods, something still lingering in the creased skin between his eyebrows.

  


“You evaded the real question,” Poe observes softly.  “Should I go?”

  


In the lamplight, Poe’s skin is so much darker than Luke’s own, but also somehow golden and luminescent, more beautiful than Luke can account for.  His eyes glitter black and endless, and Luke shakes his head, even though his mouth has gone dry and his stomach flutters strangely.  “I would be dismayed to lose our friendship and our comradery, Commander.  Please stay.  You can add it to the stacks of favors I owe you.”

  


“Likely I’ll have enough to afford even your soul by season’s end,” Poe quips back.  It’s weak, the smile slanting up too much on one side of Poe’s mouth as opposed to the other, but Luke embraces what little real warmth there is in the exchange.

  


He’s really not sure how dear his soul could possibly be these days anyway.

  


* * *

  


Poe crosses the alley, finding his quarry has entered a courtyard and now simply sits and waits.  It’s more than a little inconvenient, he thinks, sighing and sinking into a crouch behind a rain water barrel to wait the man out.  He eyes the balconies above the courtyard, but there’s no guarantee someone won’t be inside and take offense at a Spaniard using their home as a place to spy from.  If whomever the man is meeting cuts up this alley though, Poe is not nearly invisible enough. 

  


He’s lucky Finn hadn’t tried to tag along today, something about a talk Lady Rey would also be attending at the British Museum.  This new path the man cuts is surprisingly open and lacking in hiding spots for one, let alone two.  It doesn’t seem suited to dark deeds, though not exactly ill suited either, and sometimes deep paranoia will make a man seek a middle ground.  Poe’s banking on something happening, and he’s hoping that something isn’t a blown cover.

  


Poe’s luck holds, and to his surprise, it is a lady who enters the courtyard from an alley to his left.  She wears a heavy veil over her hair and her overcoat greatly resembles a nun’s gown at a glance, but the coat doesn’t hold up to close scrutiny, buttons hidden along the front flap.  A stray piece of dark hair has escaped the wimple like veil, and it’s just enough to jog Poe’s memory.  The lady was with Mr. Hux at the Bacca’s Ball, though Poe had never managed to wrangle an introduction or learn her name.  Even in simple clothing and with her hair covered, she’s surprisingly striking, dark eyes a little too alert and quick for Poe’s comfort.  The man is a patsy, certainly, but she’s something more dangerous.  He’s just not sure what that is yet.

  


She doesn’t linger or speak, and if Poe weren’t so eagle eyed, he’s not sure he’d have seen the note that drops from the Russian man’s hand and vanishes into the satchel inside the coat’s voluminous sleeves.  She glides away just as easily as she came, barely pausing in her circuit through the courtyard.  The Russian heads back out of the courtyard on the opposite side.  Poe rocks on his heels, considering, and having tailed the Russian a handful of times with far less intel to show for it than this, carefully moves to follow the woman.

  


He follows her as far as Regent’s Park, by which time her veil has vanished and her overcoat gets left behind a bench in a market in a remarkable well concealed cubby, and she’s transformed back into the gorgeous London ingénue.  It really cuts at him then that he loses her in spite of her eye catching appearance, even though it’s largely due to being spotted by someone of his own acquaintance upon entering the park.

  


“Commander,” Jessika greets him, waving.  Poe covers his grimace with a polite smile as he joins Jess and Karé.

  


“Hello, ladies,” he greets them.  “I was just about to call on Lady Solo.  What brings you out today?”

  


“What fun, we were on our way to call on Miss Rey,” Jess admits breezily.  “Will you walk with us?”

  


“Gladly,” he agrees, offering his arm to her.  Karé sniffs, unamused, as her sister takes his arm, even as she falls into step alongside them.  “And perhaps you two can help me solve a mystery.”

  


That has Karé perking up.  “I’ve forgotten a lady’s name,” he lies.  “She’s dark haired, possibly engaged to Mr. Hux?”

  


“Not engaged at all, but I know the lady you mean,” Karé supplies, looking suspiciously disappointed by his so called mystery.  “Lady Bazine Netal.  Her family’s interests are all mostly in India.”

  


“Not India, Afghanistan,” Jess disagrees.  Where Karé’s voice is edged in suspicion, Jess’s tone is far too blithe.  “And everyone knows Mr. Hux has proposed twice and been denied.”

  


“No, he’s only proposed once, because she had the audacity to stop him before he could try a second time,” Karé corrects her sister.  “Perhaps she’s smart.  Mr. Hux is certainly wealthy enough for any lady to consider, but he’s a rather cross man.  A woman as ill-tempered and imperious as she often is would make for a spectacularly violent match.”

  


“Don’t court her, Poe,” Jess giggles, an awkward sound from a lady he’s never heard giggle before.  “She’d cut you to shreds with her horrible sharp tongue.”

  


“I certainly have no intention of courting her,” Poe replies, not having to try too hard to play at being shocked by the suggestion.  “I’m grateful for the assistance though. I swear, she could tell I didn’t recall her name at all and was about to unleash a terrible scolding before we were interrupted.  I’ll be better prepared next time thanks to the two of you.”

  


Jess giggles again, while Karé looks a little too curious and wary.  Lady Netal is not the sort of woman a gentleman forgets.  Fortunately for Poe, whatever suspicions the ladies may have are forced onto the shelf by their arrival at the Solo House.  The butler leads them off to Rey in the library, while Poe slips away carefully to find Leia and fill her in.

  


Leia has a number of missives spread across her desk when he walks in, which she covers with a map when she spots him.  “Have you had a falling out with my brother?” she asks, blunt and suspicious, and Poe winces as he sits down across her desk from her, wondering if all English women are so terrifyingly perceptive or he’s just blessed in his choice of acquaintances.

  


“We’ve patched it up,” he says, holding up a pacifying hand when she glares.  “Lesson learned, I’ll not try anything with him again.”

  


She deflates, looking surprisingly disappointed.  “Oh,” she sighs, slumping in her chair.  “I’d certainly hoped that would go your way,” she informs him.  “I hadn’t seen Luke look so fondly on anyone in so long.  Nor so happy, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed his laugh.”

  


“Perhaps wishing got the better of logic?” Poe suggests politely, not enjoying the comments that shouldn’t mean anything to him but still do.  She scowls at him, apparently hearing the unspoken distaste.

  


“You have something for me?” she barks, and Poe nods.

  


“My most recent Russian contact met with a Lady Bazine Netal today,” Poe relates.  “A written message was passed, but I was unable to retrieve it.”

  


“Netal?” Leia frowns, tapping at her lips.  “Afghanistan.  Gateway for Russian into India.  Interesting.  You’ve suddenly given me a lot of work for the evening, Poe.”

  


“I’ll get out of your way, then,” Poe says, rising.

  


“Poe,” Leia stops him, looking uncertain.  “I’m sure my brother made a mess of things, at least made a mess of your heart, though he didn’t intend to.  Let him put it right and be done with it, all right?”

  


“He doesn’t need to put anything right,” Poe objects, then catches her meaning.  Luke must have consulted with her about something, otherwise she’d never have brought it up.  Put it out of mind and be done with the affection, he tells himself, it can’t be that hard.  He nods to her once.  She smiles grimly, looking satisfied, before she shoos him out of her study.

  


Poe walks to Skywalker House, letting his steps trudge slow and short.  He wants to forget about Luke, but the other man somehow has gotten so far underneath Poe’s skin that tearing him out hurts.  Worse, he looks at Poe with those huge blue eyes, begging for some connection Poe doesn’t know how to get back thanks to this ache around his heart, and it just makes the ache grow.  He takes a deep breath, slowly and carefully locking his feelings for Luke away in neat little boxes in the darkest recesses of his mind, the way he learned to do with trauma or strong feelings during missions, and it helps. 

  


A low whistle out of the shadows distracts him, and Poe stops, checking the area carefully.  He whistles back a follow signal and loops away from the front of Skywalker House toward the rear servant’s entrance.  Once he carefully checks the yard, he unlatches the gate and slips in, confirming that everyone is inside before whistling out an all clear signal.

  


The urchin that tumbles from the bushes is a sprawl of too thin limbs and exuberance.  Her cap is rounded to bursting trying to contain her unmanageable blonde curls, and those that have escaped the cap are streaked with black soot and something a vile shade of orange that Poe doesn’t want to think about too closely.

  


“ _Tengo información muy bueno esta vez_!” she grins up at him, and he sighs, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping at the streak of blood across her cheek.  It isn’t hers.

  


“Nah, just got in a tussle with a couple of me mates,” she swears, making a complicated gesture involving crossed fingers and tapping her breastbone.  Her London street cant is impressive, almost as impressive as her Spanish, given that neither is her native tongue.  He despairs what might happen if Leia ever manages to wrangle a face to face meeting with BB.  She’ll outdo them all someday unless he manages to convince her to retire and let him find her a good family placement.  It’s the best he can do for her, but she won’t leave him.  He continues to stare her down, so she cheekily adds, “Promise, _Hada Madrina_.”

  


Poe rolls his eyes.  “Are you eating?” he demands, poking at her too thin arm.

  


“I have information, good stuff this time!” she insists, but deflates.  “But I won’t say no to food.”

  


“ _Madre de dios_ ,” Poe curses, hating that if she’s willing to admit it, BB has been living rougher than he would like.  “I thought I made myself clear, BB.”

  


“I’m fine,” she insists, making a face at him.  “You can’t make me do anything.”

  


“I can refuse to take your information,” he threatens her, and she positively droops.  “Sit down, I’ll go see if I can swipe some scraps for you.”

  


He met BB when he was in a tight spot in France.  She’d been all of nine years old (or so she’d claimed.  Poe suspects that birthday might have been a few months out of reach at the time.) and living on the streets, but he never would have made it to sanctuary in Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise without her.  Both he and Father Yoda had refused to let her back out into danger, and in the few weeks of waiting out the storm, Poe had gotten rather attached to the girl.  She refuses to let him take her in properly, but she trails after him and studies spy craft, and he figures if she stays close as she’s promised him she’ll do, it’s better than nothing.

  


Luck is not on his side when he sticks his head in the kitchen.  Mrs. Tekka gives him a hard stare, then looks through the window.  “No,” she barks at him, before Poe can say anything.  “Lord Skywalker has very clear rules about this sort of thing when it comes to Leia and her street informants, and I won’t break them for you.”

  


Poe winds up, greedily latching on to the information.  Anything to make him angry with Luke, to build distance between them he covets like a dragon lusts over its golden horde.  And this certainly will do the trick.  “Now wait just a minute,” he starts, and Mr. Threep bustles in from the servant’s dining room, looking quite pleased. 

  


“Have you informed him his guest must come inside to eat?” Mr. Threep asks anxiously.  “We spotted him earlier, the lad is skin and bones, Commander!”

  


“Lass,” Mrs. Tekka corrects him.  Mr. Threep blinking rapidly in confusion matches exactly what Poe is feeling inside.  “It’s a good disguise, but those curls, Mr. Threep.”

  


“I’m sorry, the rule is…?” Poe asks, feeling tremendously stupid suddenly.

  


“The lass comes in and has a full, proper meal,” Mrs. Tekka says firmly.  “I’ll not hear otherwise, and Lord Skywalker certainly won’t either.”

  


“Of course he won’t,” Poe sighs to himself.  More information to tuck into dark boxes in his mind when he has time.  “Fine, I’ll talk her into coming in.”

  


“Talk her into it?” Mr. Threep seems quite put out by the notion that an urchin might not want to sit down to a proper meal.  “What utter nonsense, she will come in, and she will eat!”

  


“Oh boy,” Poe mutters, stepping back outside before the butler can get truly worked up.

  


BB looks hopeful, face falling when she spots Poe’s empty hands.  “Sorry, kid, they insist you come in and get a proper meal in the servant’s hall,” he tells her.  She looks torn, but the hungry shine in her eyes wins out, and she nods.  “Go on and give me your news, I need to get dressed for dinner upstairs before anyone worries.”

  


“You were right about Baroness Minka,” BB reports excitedly.  “She’s actually Princess Phasma, though I don’t think princess is the right title, maybe more like a countess?  I need more Russian lessons, Poe! Anyway, she’s the cousin of the tsar.  But you were wrong about Ben Solo courting her or at least, she’s not here to be courted.  One of the gentlemen in her house indicated she’s spoken for, something arranged.”

  


So Baroness Minka, a.k.a. Princess Phasma, is the woman whom the rebellion and the Russians want to align him with, Poe realizes, snorting in amusement.  She’s an Amazon, standing a good head and shoulders taller than him, and the sight they’d make… well, at least their children would be gorgeous. 

  


“Well, that is all definitely worth dinner,” Poe informs her.  “Where are you staying, BB?  I can arrange something better for you.”

  


“And that’s why I’m not telling you,” BB scowls at him.  “I give you an inch, and you’ll have me in one of those puffy gowns and curtseying to gentlemen who would probably rather bugger you.”

  


“Language,” Poe scolds her mildly, in spite of his amusement.  “You would learn more if you were inside the social circles, you know.”

  


“I’d have to wear a corset!” she wails, making a ghastly face.  “No!”

  


“Fine, get inside and don’t leave until you eat every scrap they give you,” he informs her.  He resists the urge to pull her into a hug, which is probably fortunate, because given the state of her clothes, he probably doesn’t want to smell like wherever she’s been.

  


Once he’s watched her go inside and knows she’s firmly in hand with Mrs. Tekka, he skirts the shadows back down the lane and makes his way up to the house along the street.

  


Artie gives him an odd look as he meets Poe at the front door, and Poe pauses, curious.  “Perhaps before you go to change for dinner, Commander, you would be so good as to look in on Lord Skywalker in the salon next to the library?” the valet suggests. 

  


Poe frowns, but nods, changing directions and heading for the room Artie indicated.  He’d thought it largely unused, but it seems Luke does have some use for it.  The door is ajar and a lit lantern sits inside, but when Poe steps inside, the room is empty.  Mostly.

  


An easel and stool sit near the large window on the far side of the room, and stepping closer, Poe realizes there are a handful of canvases, the expensive kind that are stretched and bolted already for him, sitting next to the easel, along with a box of his favorite type of oil paints and brushes.

  


“I asked Leia for suggestions,” Luke’s voice behind him startles Poe, and he turns too quickly, a little awed.  “Mind you, I’d like to keep something as a commission of sorts, but Miss Oola mentioned you might prefer paints to the small charcoal set you’re traveling with.”

  


“I do, I much prefer paint,” Poe manages to say, voice faint and thin.  “This is… it’s far too much, Luke.”

  


“I believe I owed you at least one favor, didn’t I?” Luke replies dryly.  “Consider it a thank you gift if you’d prefer.”

  


Poe swallows hard, his heart fit to burst between this gesture and the little girl sitting in the servant’s hall below them, undoubtedly tucking into dinner by now.  “I… this is…” he stammers, trying to find anywhere to look other than at Luke. 

  


He is so utterly screwed.  The dark boxes are all overturned and spilling out everything he tried to lock away.  He is so head over heels in love with this man. 

  


* * *

  


Poe won’t look up at Luke, and Luke feels like he can’t draw in a full breath.  He had thought he had done well, although Leia had given him an odd, pitying look when he went to consult her about how best to apologize for insulting Poe.  She’d near slapped him when he indicated he’d upset Poe and wouldn’t embellish on how, then had gone quiet and suspicious.  He’s suddenly concerned she steered him wrong out of sisterly spite.

  


Poe looks up finally, eyes strangely bright and too full of something Luke has never seen before.  “Thank you, Luke,” he says softly.  Luke exhales, but relief isn’t rushing in.  He’s caught in Poe’s gaze, heart kicking up even further.  It’d be all too easy to close the distance between them, he thinks suddenly.

  


Poe fortunately looks away, flushing bright red as he does.  “These are perfect, Leia has excellent taste.”

  


“Good,” Luke manages, backing out of the room carefully.  “Excuse me, I should dress for dinner.”

  


He stumbles down the hall, finding Artie looking far too amused.  “My lord, I felt I should advise you that we have an extra mouth down in the servant’s dining room this evening.”

  


“Oh, one of Leia’s urchins?” Luke asks, immediately grateful for the distraction.  “Do they have a message for me?”

  


“No sir,” Artie replies, and his bushy mustache twitches and shakes again.  “Also, it appears this particular urchin does not belong to your sister, but rather to the Commander.”

  


Luke wants to groan.  Of all the traits Poe could share with his sister, he had to have a fondness for adopting street waifs too?  He’s far too fond of the young man, he doesn’t want to admire him on top of everything else.  “I wouldn’t have thought the commander had been in town nearly long enough to collect his own followers,” he remarks, following Artie toward the stairs down to the servant’s area so he can peek in on the street child.

  


“I don’t believe he has been,” Artie informs him.  “When she came in, she tried speaking only in French to start.  Miss Oola came in and started speaking right back, so she clammed up and switched to Spanish.  Mr. Threep doesn’t speak much of the language, but he did say she referred to Commander Dameron as her ‘fairy godmother’ along with a few more colorful phrases he wouldn’t deign to repeat.”

  


Luke snorts, amused in spite of himself, tucking himself along a doorframe where he has a clear line of sight into the servant’s dining area.  It takes him a moment to be sure, but he decides the urchin is indeed a young woman, maybe 13 or 14 at best.  She tucks into the food far too eagerly, and Luke frowns.

  


“I can’t imagine Poe approves of how hungry she seems,” Luke says, and Artie nods solemnly.

  


“I may have overheard,” he starts, and Luke hides his smile.  His valet is a champion at eavesdropping.  “But he certainly did not.  But she’ll have nothing to do with his attempts to properly adopt her either.”

  


“Fascinating,” Luke says before he catches himself.  “She seems intriguing,” he corrects.  “Would it spook her if I introduce myself, do you think?”

  


“Wait till she’s eaten here a few times,” Artie advises him.  “Mrs. Tekka and I will make sure she knows she can pick up food here regularly, that she needn’t come only when she has information for the commander.”

  


“Good,” Luke replies.  He straightens his jacket, resisting the urge to dwell on the confirmation of Poe’s good heart.  “I should dress for dinner.”

  


“Sir?” Artie says, looking a bit uncertain.  “I know it’s not my place, but… none of us would judge you in any way for accepting happiness when it comes to you, even if it perhaps isn’t… conventional?  Certainly none of us would be here if you were a conventional gentleman.”

  


Luke pauses, looking curiously at his valet.  “What on earth has prompted such a declaration?” he asks, pulse pounding in his ears.  Surely if one of them saw him and Poe that night, they would have condemned them both.  Then again, the mention of the strange and checkered pasts of his staff seems deliberate; it’s something they all usually ignore in his house.

  


“Merely my observations, my lord,” Artie reassures him.  “But perhaps think about this.  You certainly never smiled over Lady Mara the way you’re smiling now.  Whoever,” and Artie pauses here, giving Luke a rather stern look.  “Whoever makes you happy this way, perhaps it’s worth bending your thoughts around the matter a little further?”

  


Luke almost wants to let his jaw hang open in disbelief, just to spite his valet, but he puts on his best neutral face.  “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” he sniffs, climbing back up the stairs. 

  


The path up takes him back past the salon, where Poe is carefully arranging his new paints, thoughts of dinner apparently forgotten.  “Have Mrs. Tekka hold dinner for a quarter hour,” Luke tells Artie, who gives him an all too knowing look.

  


That’s when Luke realizes how fondly he’s smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

True to her word, Leia goes to work on Poe’s intel very quickly, and from the look on her face when Poe brings her BB’s news about Baroness Minka, she’s not wholly surprised.

 

“We’re in a dangerous game with Russia, I’m afraid,” she admits, as they puzzle over the lines of connection between Russia, Afghanistan, and Spain.  “If we tip our hand in too heavily, there’s a lot of risk to both our countries.  Rebellion or outright civil war in Spain, a Russian assassination, an alliance between Russia and Afghanistan that could leave India vulnerable.  It’s a fine puzzle board you’ve built me, Poe.”

 

“There may be no stopping the rebellion in Spain, there’s too many wheels in motion on that machine,” Poe reminds her.  “It comes down to what suits the global game best.”

 

Leia looks surprised, and Poe can’t resist smirking.  “Yes, I know you’re looking at this more broadly than as just the spy master to Queen Victoria,” he says, leaning back in his chair.  “And this is probably the part of our discussion where you’re hoping I’ll admit that my cousin’s weakness for too heavy a hand with her nobles, of meddling in all things personal and political, has led straight to this point.  And I agree, rebellion in Spain is not entirely without merit to the world stage as we are a country in need of reform.  But I will still urge you to ensure this rebellion, heavily fed by the wrong sorts, is quashed, and to stage the right kind of rebellion a few years from now that allows for a safe abdication.  Her Highness is old enough and wise enough to know that that time may not be far from hand.”

 

“You’ve given me quite a lot to think about,” Leia admits, sitting back in her chair and examining Poe thoughtfully.  “And will you help me devise solutions to our problems in Russia?”

 

“We’ll need to find out how deep this plot runs,” Poe replies.  “Lady Netal’s involvement speaks of conspiracy, perhaps rooted and ingrown here in England.  There’s also the matter of when you want to stop it, as you’ve observed before that some of this plot is quite advantageous to both our countries and the broader global picture.”

 

“Will you stay and dine with us?” Leia asks.  “I think this merits more discussion, but discussion I would prefer to have when my children are out of the house for the evening.  Rey’s been invited to accompany the Calrissians to a gala, and Ben will be at the club after supper.”

 

“I’d be glad to,” Poe agrees easily.  He suspects Leia’s children, Rey in particular, have a terrible habit of eavesdropping at keyholes.  “Though I didn’t bring a jacket for dining.”

 

“Piffle,” Leia replies, rolling her eyes as they head upstairs to the drawing room.  “We’re not standing on formalities tonight anyway.  Han probably won’t wear a jacket at all.”

 

“I heard that,” Han remarks, coming down the stairs and meeting them in the foyer.  True to Leia’s word, he isn’t dressed for a formal meal, but he does have a jacket on.  “And just for that, I might take it off.”

 

“Make yourself useful and pour us all some drinks,” she laughs, teasingly pushing her husband to the drawing room, but Ben waves them off, already at the sideboard.

 

“Already a step ahead of you, Father,” he remarks, offering the first glass to Poe, a surprisingly friendly gesture, but the bruises have all faded from his face.  “Commander, it’s good to see you.  I had hoped to run into you soon.  I’m hoping to pick your brain. Perhaps you can settle a wager for me, regarding Spanish fencing.”

 

“I’ll certainly try, though I prefer a good pistol myself,” Poe admits.  He settles in for drinks, learning about the wager (all of five shillings) between Mr. Hux and another gentleman at the club, which is exceedingly silly and Ben’s retelling spurs them all into laughter.

 

“I’m sorry to have to rule against Mr. Hux, but I do hope he’ll remember not to get lost in… innuendo and word play next time Mr. Snoke goads him,” Poe tells Ben, finishing the last of his drink.  Han can’t stop chuckling, and even Leia seems quite amused.

 

“You should join us some evening, Commander,” Ben invites him. 

 

“I may take you up on that offer, thank you,” Poe replies, quite surprised.  He won’t turn aside Ben’s goodwill gesture, however strange and unexpected.  He strongly believes in keeping a close eye on snakes, and Ben strikes him as a potentially vicious adder.

 

Leia’s cook, a portly man named Wexley, serves some of the best food Poe’s ever tasted, but it seems informal dinner doesn’t live up to quite the same level Poe is used to from the Solo household.  The lamb is a bit heavy on the mint, too heavy perhaps, as he notices Ben setting it aside after only a small bite, which he suspects ended up discretely spat into a napkin.  For his part, like Leia, he simply pushes the mint aside.

 

“He’s picked up some terrible recipes from his newest assistant, lovely Indian woman but she has a very sharp palate,” Leia confides in a rare moment the footmen are all away from the room.  “It’ll pass, most of his experimental cooking phases do.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Han replies too cheerfully.  “I’m enjoying it.”

 

“You have no taste,” his wife counters, but her tone is all too fond. 

 

Ben departs directly after they dine, and Poe settles into the library with Leia and Han, feeling a little amused.  “Now, what turned him around on me?” Poe asks, resisting the urge to loosen his cravat as they sit down with the sherry Leia pours them.  The weather has been turning warmer in London for some time, but it seems to be stiflingly hot this evening.  Even Leia appears a little red in the face.

 

“It could be because Rey informed him quite baldly that you had no intention of courting her,” Han smirks into his snifter, half choking out a cough and a laugh at his own remark, then gulps down some more sherry to clear his throat.  “Damn kid really is taking her whole ‘race to the altar’ challenge too seriously.”

 

“Nothing quite like sibling rivalry,” Poe says, but his breath catches oddly on the last words.  He tries to breathe deeply, but his breath catches again, like he’s suddenly winded.  Han’s snifter suddenly slips between his fingers, his hand trembling oddly, and the penny drops in Poe’s mind as the glass slips to the ground rolling and spilling amber liquid in a pool at Han's feet.  “Something’s wrong,” he mutters, and Leia nods.  She’s flushed until she tries to get to her feet, then pales rapidly, sways, and drops suddenly.

 

Poe makes it to his feet and grabs hold of a bell rope, not even sure who he’s summoning, his mind foggy but still turning over facts.  A maid appears, gasping and rushing for his side as he stumbles and falls to his knees.  “Send someone,” he manages to say, the room blurring oddly around him.  He can’t get a deep breath.  “Get Finn Skywalker.  Tell him… bring poison kit.”

 

The world goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Luke and Finn have just settled in for after dinner drinks when Artie bursts into the room, a frantic and winded maid at his side.  “Mr. Finn, you’ve been called for at Solo House.  This lady says Poe was asking for you and your poison kit before he passed out.”

 

Luke’s glass misses the side table and hits the floor in a spectacular crash as Finn hurtles off the couch and vanishes up the stairs.  “The carriage?” he asks, and Artie nods.

 

“Already called and waiting for Finn, he was planning on visiting the club this evening,” Artie reassures him, handing him his hat.  “Shall we summon the family doctor as well, my lord?”

 

“Best not, we don’t know what this is,” Luke says lowly, knowing his sister’s position on this sort of thing even though his mind is swamped with worry.  “Reverend Kenobi, though. If it is poisons we’re dealing with, his help could be invaluable.”  Kenobi had taught Finn all he knew about treating poisons, and more than that, he could be trusted implicitly.  He’s sure Leia has a physician of similar standing, but he has no clue who that would be currently, and her household should have summoned him, if they know.  There’s also a good chance, since Finn’s recent graduation, that the doctor is in fact Finn.

 

“We’ll fetch him as well,” Artie promises, and he and Luke follow Finn back out to the carriage.  Once he’s in the carriage, Luke’s fear starts to take horrible root.  If Poe had already been unconscious by the time the maid had come for them, it might be too late already.

 

“All three of them were affected?” he dimly hears Finn asking the maid, who is nodding between sobs.  “What about Ben?  You said he dined with them?”

 

“He left straight from dinner for his club,” she replies, sniffling.  “I don’t know.”

 

“The driver will take you on to the club, see if you can find him immediately,” Finn directs her.  “Even if he’s not yet affected, bring him back to the house.  It could be he simply got a lower dose and will have problems soon enough, understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she agrees.  The carriage barely stops in the yard before Finn tumbles out, sprinting up into the house, leaving Luke to follow behind him after he makes sure the carriage driver knows where to go. 

 

Just inside the door, he finds Leia’s maid, a whip smart woman with a memory gift like no other named Eliza Atsy and pulls her to the side.  He forces his emotions into check, focusing on her face carefully.  “What should we know?” he asks her, and she blinks, blank faced for a moment, then he can see her mind begin working.

 

“It’s slow.  My lady was quite flushed for some time.  The commander seemed feverish toward the end of dinner.  My lord hasn’t moved and holds onto consciousness, but he has developed tremors in his hands and struggles to breathe.  The poison moved quicker as they moved about, so it’s accelerated with exertion,” she reports in a slightly mechanical way.  “They had drinks together before dinner, brandy on the side board, but that bottle is empty now.  Three courses at dinner.  The commander didn’t eat the orange sauce. Lady Solo skipped the potatoes.  Lord Solo had the white wine only.  Mr. Ben touched neither of the wines and did not eat the lamb.  He also skipped dessert and after dinner drinks, but not much of the sherry has been consumed if any at all, and the poison isn’t working fast enough for that to be the source.  Dinner perhaps, but more likely the brandy before dinner, my lord.”

 

Miss Atsy pauses, pulling in a deep breath, and he nods encouragingly.  “We have three new staff members in the last few weeks.  One man in the stable, a footman who hasn’t been in the dining room yet, and a cook’s assistant.”

 

The stable man Luke can likely dismiss, as he knows the woman who recommended the lad to Leia and Han, and his access to the kitchen, or even less likely, to the drawing room, going unnoticed by Miss Atsy’s incredible memory stretches belief.  “Have the footman and the cook’s assistant brought upstairs,” he tells her, offering her a wan smile.  “Your memory does you credit as always, my dear.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she dips in a shaky curtsy and collects a couple of trusted servants as she departs.

 

He moves into the library.  Finn has an unconscious Leia up on a couch, checking over her pulse, and Han clings to consciousness, though he’s slumped in his chair strangely, face grey and eyes unfocused.   “Her maid says it’s slow moving, she thinks most likely from drinks before dinner,” then he relays the symptoms she noted, though most are still in exhibit, and Finn nods, reaching for his bag.

 

Luke turns, heart flipping terribly and every ounce of cobbled together calm vanishing when he spots Poe.  He must have collapsed near the bell pulleys, and someone has propped him up along the wall.  His skin is brightly flushed, eyes closed but restless, and rational thought slips from Luke’s mind.  He kneels down beside him, taking Poe’s hand in his, cataloging the rough wheeze of Poe’s lungs. 

 

Poe’s eyes slit open briefly, then close again, Luke’s name slipping out on his next breath.  “Shh, I’ve got you,” Luke tries to soothe the other man, reaching up and smoothing a hand across his forehead to push his unruly hair away from where it’s fallen onto his brow.  The skin is hot to the touch, alarmingly so.  “He’s burning up,” Luke reports over to Finn, hating how shaky his voice comes out.

 

“Here,” a new voice interrupts, and Reverend Kenobi kneels down with him, tugging open one of Poe’s eyes.  “Finn?”

 

“I was thinking water hemlock, but now I’m pretty sure it’s fungal,” Finn calls over.  “Or maybe a combination?”

 

“You came quickly,” Luke remarks, surprised, and Kenobi huffs a soft laugh.

 

“I was dining next door, and your man caught wind of it before he’d made it too far toward my lodgings.  It seems God favors us this evening,” the minister replies before turning to Finn.  “I concur with your observations, Finn.  Let’s get that mustard emetic of yours into them, then a dose of that new substance you were telling me about, sodium bicarbonate, to get as much of this poison out or neutralized as we can, then get them into bed.  Stillness, and their bodies will have to do the rest.”

 

“You can’t…” Luke’s panic trails off as Poe’s hand tightens on his, drawing his attention back to the younger man.  

 

“He’s strong, he’ll get through this,” Kenobi informs Luke sternly.  “What he needs from you right now is for you to do what your sister cannot.  Find who did this, and find out why.  Send me men you trust, and we’ll get them up to rooms and resting once they’ve purged as much of the poison as we can manage to force out of them.”

 

It takes Luke a moment, but he finally relaxes his fingers, letting Poe’s hand slip back to rest at his side, and then climbs to his feet.  He doesn’t have to round anyone up, it seems Miss Atsy has already sent them all up, only one or two familiar faces not already lining the hall and awaiting orders, and he directs them to follow Finn and Kenobi’s instructions before he continues down the hall to where Miss Atsy is waiting. 

 

“We’ve got a problem,” she tells him, nodding her head.  Her grim calmness has reasserted itself, thankfully, because Luke desperately needs the touchstone to reassert his own.  She leads him down the hall and to the back servant’s staircase.  At the bottom of the stairs, a pale and furious looking Wexley guards the way.

 

“I’ve ordered him to keep everyone upstairs for now,” Miss Atsy tells Luke, whose misgivings are starting to grow.

 

“Your new assistant, who recommended her?” he asks, and Wexley’s jaw juts out further.

 

“She came highly recommended from her last house, the Darklighters,” Wexley replies.  “She was no assassin.”

 

“Was?” Luke latches on, looking to Miss Atsy, who motions him forward.  Past the kitchen, then up several long flights of stairs to the attic and the servant’s lodgings.  One of the rooms here is guarded by Mr. Nien, Han’s gravelly voiced valet.  His accent is thick, voice more rumbles than words, but Luke understands him well enough thanks to years of practice.

 

“My lord, it be nae pretty,” he cautions Luke, who nods, bracing himself. 

 

At first glance, the woman inside the room appears to have slit her own wrists.  He frowns, looking closer, then steps back out, looking to Miss Atsy.  “You saw?” he asks her, and she nods, paling slightly at the memory.  “I’m sorry to ask,” he starts, but she shakes her head.

 

“The door was unlocked and slightly ajar, indicating discovery was desired,” she recites.  “Both wrists are cut, deep and true.  While she was skilled with blades, even the surest hand would have faltered, especially as it managed the second cut.  There’s skin under her nails, blood too I think, but there is too much of hers to be certain.  She fought, but no one heard her.  It had to be just following dinner service.”

 

“What of the new footman?” Luke asks, and Nien shakes his head.

 

“No good, the laddie must’a scarpered as soon as word went round.  He might nae be guilty, our newest lad in the stables bolted as well.  There’s thems as trusted in the house…”

 

“Fair enough,” Luke agrees, but it doesn’t bode well.  “We need them found, and this mess can’t be swept away,” he remarks, looking back in at the grisly sight one last time.  “Miss Atsy, send some lads to fetch constables.  For now, the constabulary need only be told the household is ill and that it appears a servant took her own life.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” she agrees, vanishing up the stairs.

 

It’s several hours before constables depart with the body, and then Luke is left to deal with his nephew, whom it took a surprising amount of time to round up as well.  Ben has been confined to his bed as a precaution, but he appears none too happy about it.  Finn fortunately has left Reverend Kenobi and Luke to deal with it, their animosity not likely to help matters, Luke suspects.

 

“I feel fine,” his nephew insists.  “If there was poison, it was probably in that terrible lamb, I couldn’t choke any of it down.”

 

“That’s likely,” Luke agrees, mostly to placate Ben.  “Which is fortunate, because it means you got a mild dose, if any.  But in case you did, stillness will help ensure it passes from you without doing any harm to you.  You can understand our concern?  Please, nephew, for my sake.”

 

Ben settles in, still looking rather put upon, and Luke leaves him with a book for company, thinking it fortunate that books can’t complain about the company they’re left in.

 

In the hall, Finn joins him, looking weary.  “Han definitely got the worst of it, the tremors are increasing,” he tells Luke.  “I’m sitting with him, keeping an eye on his breathing, and Revered Kenobi will check on all of our patients throughout the night.  Rey’s sitting with her mother, as her dose seems to be the mildest, but I’ve walked Rey through warning signs just in case.  Can you sit with Poe?”

 

Luke hesitates, panic clawing its way through his lungs and halting his breathing for a moment, then Finn adds, “He’s been asking for you.”

 

“How is he?” Luke asks hoarsely.  Finn squeezes his arm gently, reassuring.

 

“He got a bad dose, and he needs a steady eye,” Finn admits.  “But he’s also much stronger than Han, so I think he’ll pull through.” He hesitates, looking at Luke too carefully.  “I suspect your presence might help him find more strength.”

 

Luke closes his eyes, feeling awash in humiliation.  “How transparent I must be,” he mutters, and Finn shakes his head, reaching out and clenching hold of both Luke’s arms, tight and comforting.

 

“No, I just have the benefit of seeing you both miserable and happy in turns over the last fortnight,” Finn replies in a low voice.  “Though sometimes when you two talk, I suspect I could leave the room and come back without either of you noticing.”

 

“If I do this, I’m a fool and likely damned,” Luke reminds Finn, who grins, a quick flash of bright delight in the darkness.

 

“That’s Reverend Kenobi’s territory, not mine.  I’ve found no cause to complain or stop you,” Finn says easily, squeezing his godfather’s arms once more before letting go.  “Life’s too short, Luke.  Go, be with him.”

 

Luke goes, if only to be spared anyone else enlightening him about what he’s just starting to understand.  Poe’s room is quiet, too quiet, and the man himself is so very still that Luke’s feet move faster to get to his side, listening with sickening gratitude the sound of labored breathing he can make out once he stands closer.  He watches Poe’s chest rise and fall beneath a thin sleep shirt that must have been borrowed from Han, because it stretches over his shoulders and chest too tightly. 

 

Poe looks pale now, hair slicked back from his face, but Luke still reaches a gentle hand up to his forehead.  He’s still too warm, but not quite so alarmingly hot to the touch now. Poe stirs a little, and Luke slides his hand down to Poe’s cheek, and Poe nuzzles into it sleepily.  “L’ke?”

 

“I’m here,” Luke says softly.  “I’m staying right here.”

 

“Dn haffta,” Poe slurs, and it takes Luke a moment to puzzle it out. 

 

“No, I don’t have to,” he agrees, letting his thumb trace a gentle arc back and forth over Poe’s cheek.  “But there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

 

Poe’s eyes crack open finally, looking strangely puzzled as he gazes up at Luke.  “Just rest, I’ll be here,” Luke says softly.  He draws one of Poe’s hands into his own, then brings it up to his lips, like he would if Poe were a lady he intended to court. 

 

Poe’s eyes flutter closed, lips curling in a faint disbelieving smile.  Luke tucks Poe’s hand back under the blanket, then drags a chair over beside the bed.  Poe, ever contrary, slides his hand back out, and Luke takes it once more, holding on for all he’s worth.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Poe wakes slowly in the morning, aware of a heavy weight on his hand and a tightness in his chest that hasn’t completely eased.  It takes a couple of tries to force his eyes open, feeling as though every bit of his body aches unpleasantly, down to his eyelashes.  The morning light isn’t pleasant, but opening his eyes and finding Luke, sleeping head propped against their joined hands, makes it well worth the discomfort.

 

His hand twitches a little, and Luke jolts up, looking concerned.  “Good morning,” Poe says, the simple phrase running him out of air and making him pause to breathe deeply. 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Luke says, taking his hand away from Poe’s, but lifting it to Poe’s forehead.  Luke’s hand feels cool against his skin, and Luke frowns slightly.  “You’re still feverish.”

 

“I ache… all over,” Poe admits, taking two breaths to do it.  Luke pulls away from him, which is not what Poe wants at all.  “Solos?” he asks, and Luke nods.

 

“Also poisoned, also on the mend, though more slowly than you,” Luke admits.  “You’re the first one awake as far as I know.  I should go check on them.”

 

Fever dream, Poe realizes with a sudden sinking sensation.  He must have hallucinated Luke’s soft words and even softer kiss. 

 

“Curtains,” he tries, but Luke looks puzzled.  “Light,” he tries again, and Luke understands this time.  He stands and goes to the foot of the bed, drawing the heavy curtain closed, and Poe smiles in relief and closes his eyes for a moment. 

 

“You should have started with that request, you look practically euphoric,” Luke teases him gently, and there are fingertips suddenly trailing down Poe’s cheek, feather light.

 

His eyes fly open, and he really looks at Luke’s face this time.  The blue eyes are tired, dark smudges under his eyes deepened, but there’s a spark there, something bright and wanting.  He seizes his own daring, lifting his hand to Luke’s and turning his lips into the palm and planting a quick kiss there.

 

Luke’s breath shudders pleasantly, and he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, gaze terribly soft and scared.  “You’re not up for this,” Luke warns him, even though he’s brought his hand up to gently comb through Poe’s curls.

 

“If you’re willing… to kiss me… I’ll risk it,” Poe stammers out.  “Not… dream?”

 

“This?” Luke asks, lifting Poe’s hand to his lips, kissing it softly, just like Poe remembers through his fever bright haze from the night before.  He turns Poe’s hand, dropping a second kiss inside his wrist, making Poe shudder then gasp hard for breath.  “We’ll have time once you’re well again,” Luke says sternly. 

 

Poe settles back, content at least that something seems to have shifted between them.  “Sleep for a bit, Poe,” Luke urges him, stroking his curls again and making Poe’s eyes close reflexively.  “I’ll go check on the others and then come back to sit with you.”

 

“Hmm,” Poe hopes the noise conveys agreement, because Luke’s hand on his head is enough to have him drowsing already.  He’s dimly aware of Luke leaving, then a little while later, a new presence enters the room. 

 

He cracks his eyes open, smiling when he recognizes Reverend Kenobi.  “House... calls?” he rasps, and the minister smiles back, checking his fever by pressing the inside of his wrist to Poe’s forehead.

 

“You’re quite lucky Finn and I were close at hand,” Kenobi informs him.  “We’re not entirely certain what was in the food, but we’re pretty sure it was a fungus of some sort.”

 

“Lamb?” Poe guesses, remembering the foul amount of mint packed into it, and Kenobi shrugs.

 

“You’ll need to ask Lord Skywalker about it, he took charge of the questioning,” Kenobi informs him, pressing fingers to the pulse point in Poe’s wrist.

 

“Would have… loved to… see that,” Poe wheezes, a little sorry to have missed it.  The way Leia tells it, Luke used to be just as good at piecing information together and planning as they are, though he always drew the line when it came to plotting.

 

“Hmm,” Kenobi frowns down at him, and it’s not a pleasant look.  “You gave him a nasty fright, Commander.”

 

Poe keeps his eyes downcast, not sure what he’s done to earn the anger on the older man’s face.  “He’s had quite enough heartbreak in his life from spies,” Kenobi warns him, and Poe looks up, surprised, wheezing a little as his breath catches.  “Please be more careful, Commander.”

 

He leaves before Poe can be sure how the warning is meant.  It does enlighten Poe as to what has shifted for Luke.  He knows how a close brush with death can shift someone’s priorities, but he also knows how a decision made in fright can lead to regrets.  He needs to talk with Luke, and he can’t get a deep enough breath to accomplish that.  He can hear Kenobi’s voice in the hall, then Luke’s, but not well enough to make out actual words.

 

Luke slips in a moment later, looking a little puzzled by whatever has just been said in the hall.  “Leia’s awake and doing better than you, in fact,” he informs Poe cheerfully.  “Han’s determined to catch up to you both.”  There’s something a little shadowed, worried, on Luke’s face, and Poe frowns.  “Han’s tremors haven’t subsided, Finn and Reverend Kenobi are worried about the damage the poison has done to his nervous system.”

 

Poe makes a motion for Luke to continue, and Luke smiles a half smile, sighing.  “You’re just like Leia sometimes,” he remarks, sitting back down in the chair beside the bed.  “There were three new staff members among Leia’s household.”

 

“Lamb,” Poe says, and Luke nods.

 

“It’s one of the possibilities, though the cook’s assistant is dead.  Someone tried very hard to make it look like a suicide, but the staging wasn’t good enough to get past Miss Atsy.  I’m leaning toward the brandy before dinner myself.  The new footman has fled and so has the newest stable hand.”

 

Poe frowns, some thought at the back of his mind bothering him, but he can’t put a finger on it.  “Ben?” he asks.

 

“Mild dose, barely affected him,” Luke replies.  “He had some breathing trouble during the night, but it passed.”

 

Poe nods, thinking back to the previous evening.  Ben’s glass had barely been touched as he’d been talking too much during drinks.  Like the lamb, his mild dose could make sense.  Luke pulls him from his thoughts, lacing their fingers together, and he tries to smile.  “All right?” Luke asks, and Poe nods.

 

“Kenobi,” he says, and Luke frowns.  Poe gestures between them with their joined hands.

 

“I suspect he’s figured something out, but I can’t be sure,” Luke replies slowly.  “But I’d rather risk his disapproval than not have you, Poe.  I was terrified when I saw you lying there, and Reverend Kenobi had to push me to get me hunting for the ones who did this to you.  I don’t know what this is, or how any of it will work, and I’m honestly scared, Poe.”

 

Poe nods, heart sinking a little.  Baby steps, small, tiny steps, he thinks, but Luke squeezes his hand gently, pulling Poe back out of his head.  “I’m scared, but I’m not uncertain,” he insists quietly.  “Please don’t doubt me.  I know I haven’t given you good cause for faith in me, but I have feelings for you, Poe.  I’m hoping it’s the same for you.”

 

“Yes,” Poe says emphatically, hating that he can’t be more eloquent.  Then again, maybe it’s a blessing that he can’t.  Luke’s timid overture doesn’t need a declaration of love in return, it might just spook him.  He tugs on Luke’s hand, pulling him closer, and while Luke scoots a little closer, he also narrows his eyes suspiciously.

 

“I told you, I’m not kissing you till I can do it without worrying about your breathing,” Luke insists.  Poe rolls his eyes.  Luke gives in, looking faintly puzzled, then smiles when he understands.  He shifts the chair a little, then lays his head down so his eyes meet Poe’s across the pillow.  Poe reaches up, slowly tracing Luke’s face with his fingertips, and then before Luke can stop him, darts in and plants a tiny kiss on the tip of Luke’s nose, making his whole face wrinkle up before he laughs.  Luke reaches up and cards his fingers through Poe’s hair, and slowly, Poe drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Once Poe is well and truly asleep again, Luke checks back in on Leia, who looks unamused by the whole proceeding.  She’s breathing better than Poe, and Finn has skeptically declared that she must have gotten a much milder dose than either Han or Poe.  “Which is interesting,” Leia remarks, shrugging off Luke’s tut of annoyance.  “I was the most likely target.  The attempt was sloppy.”

 

“Or not,” Luke disagrees.  “Your original plans for dinner didn’t include Poe.”

 

“Huh,” Leia muses, eyebrows raising.  “That’s a fair point and may shake some interesting things loose.  Would you…” she trails off, shaking her head.  “No, I’m sorry, I know you prefer not to get involved too deeply in this business.  Poe has a street informant, do you think you can find her?  She’s already got her ear on some people whose reactions to the news I’d dearly love to know.”

 

Luke folds his arms, suddenly curious.  “There’s a plot, and it may be looking to pull Poe in,” Leia admits, sighing when Luke refuses to budge.  Something uncertain passes over her face.  “Russia, looking to use Spain to their own ends.”

 

Luke’s not sure what his face does, but Leia is suddenly struggling to sit up, eyes flashing.  “Luke, Poe knows what he’s doing,” she reminds him.  “And he’s not going to fall for it.  He’s nothing like our father or Mara.”

 

“We certainly pick interesting company,” Luke remarks, and Leia smiles faintly. 

 

“You know he’d rather cut his arm off than hurt you that way,” Leia says softly, and Luke flushes.  “Oh.  So you do return his affection.”

 

“Am I a fool?” he asks her.  “Knowing he’s a spy and still choosing this?”

 

“Do you think Han is a fool for loving me?” she asks bluntly.  Luke makes a face, and Leia laughs hoarsely.  “All right, go find Poe’s urchin, Luke.  Then Poe and I will root out our Russian conspirators.”

 

Before he leaves, Luke looks in on Han once more.  He’s too pale still, face looking like it’s aged ten years overnight.  Finn and Kenobi are in the room, discussing something quietly, and they stop the moment Luke steps in.  He may not hear what they are saying, but Finn’s got a terrible poker face.  They’re worried.

 

He ignores them, sitting down in the chair at Han’s bedside.  Han opens his eyes, taking in Luke, then closes them again.  “You look like crap,” Han informs him, voice strained.  His left hand trembles on the covers.

 

“Yeah, well, I just told my sister about what an idiot you are, so there you go,” Luke replies dryly.  “You, my friend, need to pull yourself together or she’ll get out of bed to come yell at you.”

 

“With threats like that, I’m sure to…” Han fades out, falling to sleep again.

 

Luke looks over to Finn, whose mouth hardens.  “It’s actually a good sign he was talking and coherent,” Finn tells his godfather.  “We’re keeping an eye on him, Luke, and on Poe and his lungs.”

 

“Poe fell asleep again,” Luke tells him, and Finn looks pleased.

 

“Good,” he replies.  “We sent Rey to get some rest, and when she’s awake, Reverend Kenobi and I will take turns as well.  You should get some rest too.”

 

“I fell asleep sometime in the morning hours, I woke when Poe did,” Luke admits.  “Leia’s tasked me with a few errands, then I’ll come back and sit with Poe.  Or whomever you need me to sit with,” he corrects hastily, looking over at Reverend Kenobi.

 

“Don’t look to me for condemnation, my friend,” Kenobi says softly.  “Love is God’s most precious gift.  If this is indeed a love match, I’ll be silent on anything further to do with it.”

 

“Thank you,” Luke says, more than a little surprised.  “Finn, do you know where I can find Poe’s street informant, the little blonde girl?”

 

“BB?” Finn laughs, shaking his head.  “Yeah, but I’m under strict orders not to tell Poe.”

 

“Well, if you only promised Poe,” Luke hedges. 

 

“Laundry house on Surrey Street by the River,” Finn says.  “Or there’s an orphan’s flop on Fleet Street, it’s an abandoned building between the butcher shop and a milliner’s.”

 

“Yeah, Poe would not be pleased,” Luke agrees.   “Thanks, Finn.”

 

He takes the Mid-London, then hops off a stop early, feeling paranoia set in.  Half a block later, he decides it’s not paranoia after all.  He’s caught sight of the same man in a black bowler twice.  He loops around several blocks, then cuts through a busy market place, ducking through a fish monger’s stall to be sure he loses the tail.  He ducks up an alley then over to Fleet Street, waiting on a corner for a long moment to be sure the man doesn’t reappear. 

 

Once he feels reasonably sure he’s alone, Luke pokes around the orphans’ flop house.  Mid-day, it’s largely abandoned, though he catches sight of a few lookouts.  He ignores them in favor of cataloging BB’s living arrangements.  He’s not pleased; the girl is taking too many chances.

 

He leaves and cuts over to Surrey Street, spotting the girl near the dyeing vats from his position across the street.  The curls that escape her kerchief get splashed with the orangey red liquid, which explains the terrible color in her hair.  She only works half a shift, and then departs with her pay, but Luke stays put, and sure enough, she loops back around to join him about a quarter of an hour later.

 

“So you’re _Hada Madrina’s_ friend,” BB remarks, slumping against the alley wall next to him.  “What’d’a you want?  Didn’t end well for the last chap who tried to warn me away.”

 

Bemused, Luke can’t help smiling at the girl.  She’s terribly rough, but her eyes are too weary.  “All right, come on,” he says finally, walking and trusting her to follow.

 

“ _Perdonme_?” she demands, stalking along after him with her hands on her hips.  “Where do you think we’re going?”

 

“To stick you in a bath before you see Poe,” he informs her.  “He was poisoned last night.”

 

He has to wait, the girl freezing in place for a moment.  “ _Merde_ ,” she curses.  “That Russian _putain_ was furious about someone botching a poisoning, but she didn’t say—”

 

“He’s on the mend, but we need to know what you know,” Luke says gently.  He smirks when she falls into step with him.  “And once you’ve seen Poe, we’ll discuss your new living arrangements.”

 

BB turns what would be an absolutely terrifying glare on him, if she didn’t only come up to his chest.  “It doesn’t end well if I tell Poe that gentlemen are trying to turn me into a doxie either,” she growls, and Luke laughs.

 

“He wouldn’t believe it,” Luke replies dryly.  “You’re a smarter girl than that.”

 

“So it is like that then?” she asks slyly, eyeing him up and down skeptically.  “Huh.  Your ward I would have understood, but you?”

 

Luke rolls his eyes, guiding her onto the train.  She insists on getting off two stops early, and shows him a new well-hidden path through the park that snakes right up to Leia’s back gate.  She makes him wait in the brush with her for an absurdly long time, before finally deciding they can slip through the gate.  He opens the kitchen door for her, surprised but also a little pleased to find Rey and Finn in the kitchen, raiding the stores for a makeshift breakfast.

 

“Sit,” he tells the girl, pointing to a chair next to Rey.  “Rey, will you take charge of getting her in a bath, some clean clothes, and a meal before you let her up to see Poe?”

 

“I ain’t wearing a one of those,” BB snarls, taking in Rey’s cream colored day dress.  It’s particularly nice, with a bit of sky blue lace, Luke notices. 

 

“I have breeches too,” Rey says, lowering her voice as though she and BB are conspirators.  “Will that do, Miss…?”

 

“BB,” the urchin says firmly, helping herself to a roll and gnashing at it hungrily.  “Not Miss.  Let’s go, I wanna see Poe.”

 

Luke sighs, but Rey seems utterly charmed and leads BB away.  Finn looks fondly after them.  “I can see why Poe likes the kid,” Finn remarks, shaking his head.  “Surprised you got her back here.”

 

“Told her she wouldn’t be allowed in to see Poe till she bathed,” Luke replied lowly.  “We’re working up to a discussion about housing.”

 

“Luke, you hated dealing with the season with me, you really want to adopt a daughter while you’re at it?” Finn jokes. 

 

Luke ignores it, giving Finn a questioning look.  “Ben’s up and around, and so far, listening to Reverend Kenobi’s advice to stay quiet.  He’s in the library.  Leia’s resting, but her breathing is good and the fever is almost gone.  Poe’s breathing still has me worried, but hopefully another day of rest and then a few days taking things slowly will help.  If he’s up for it this afternoon, I might ask you to take him for a walk through the garden.  At this point, it might help to get his own body’s defenses going to clear out the last of the toxins.”

 

“I can do that,” Luke agrees.  “What about Han?”

 

“We’ve called in another doctor, a specialist that Leia told us we could trust.  He’s examining him now,” Finn replies quietly.  “I’m not sure if the dosage was that much worse or there was just some past damage that it acted more heavily upon.”

 

Han’s had attempts on his life before, carries a fair number of battle scars, and Luke knows that Finn is kindly not mentioning that Han has gotten older.  Luke and Leia may have just passed four decades a year ago, but Han is nearing six, and his health has had some hiccups over the past few years.  “Thank you,” he tells Finn, squeezing his ward’s forearm.  “You saved Poe’s life, you know, maybe Leia’s too.”

 

“Yeah,” Finn replies heavily, and Luke can hear the unspoken and unearned guilt in Finn’s voice.  Two of three on the mend is not good enough.

 

Luke heads upstairs, finding Leia and Poe both asleep.  He checks on Han, finding the specialist has come and gone, but Kenobi looks even more worried.  “They’ve given him some tonics, some concoctions to strengthen him, but even the specialist leaves it to God’s hands now,” Kenobi replies.

 

“Then we’re lucky to have you on hand,” Luke replies, and the minister smiles wanly. 

 

“He asked for his son earlier,” Kenobi says.  “If he wakes again, where can I find Mr. Solo?”

 

“The library,” Luke supplies.  “I’ll be in Poe’s room, please come find me if he wakes, Reverend.”

 

It doesn’t take long for him to begin drowsing once he’s settled in beside Poe, resting his head on the bed.  He rouses a little when Poe’s hand starts gently stroking his hair, finding Poe’s color greatly improved when he sits up.  The fevered flush is gone, but he isn’t pale either.  Luke leans in, brushing a kiss to Poe’s forehead, relieved to find it cool.

 

“How do you feel?” he asks, and Poe nods.

 

“Better,” he says.  “Not so much… pain elsewhere… but breathing.”

 

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, hearing the hard catch in Poe’s lungs.  “Finn said he might send us for a walk in the garden to stretch your lungs if you felt up for it.”

 

“Visitors first,” Poe says, and Luke catches the sound of women’s voices in the hall. 

 

“Oh, right,” he says, wincing a little.  “I brought BB in, she’s under Rey’s care right now.”

 

Poe laughs, wheezing terribly as he laughs, and Luke slides up onto the bed, helping Poe sit up so he can breathe more easily.  Poe leans back against Luke’s chest, slowly getting his breathing under control and calming back down.  Luke starts to pull away, but Poe grabs onto his arms, bringing them around his waist and leaning against Luke to keep him trapped.  Luke’s heart jumps, and he tightens his arms carefully, breath shaking as he lets himself indulge in this feeling.  Poe shifts a little, nuzzling against Luke’s neck, and his whole face flushes hot.  He knows this is risky and foolish, with people just outside in the hall, but he closes his eyes for a moment, wallowing in his gratitude that Poe is mending.

 

He jolts at the knock on the door, and Poe lets him go, sitting up enough that Luke can slide off the bed.  He carefully slides a pillow into his place behind Poe, and once he’s sure the other man is propped up well, he opens the door. 

 

It turns out BB is in fact a very fair haired child under all the soot, though the orange dye hasn’t vanished from her hair even after the bath.  Rey has found trousers, but they’re some sort of soft flowing white material, and the bright marigold colored tunic over them falls to mid-calf.  Luke downgrades her age to twelve at most.  “Poe!” she cries out, flinging herself at him and wrapping her arms around his neck.  Poe immediately tucks the girl into his own body, holding her tightly.

 

Luke gives Rey a questioning look, and she shrugs.  “Dad brought it back from India when I was younger but it never suited me,” she tells him, looking fond. “I’ve given her a dozen suits like it.”

 

“See sort… of trouble… I get into… without you… ‘round?” Poe wheezes, and BB looks horrified.  “Oh no, BB,” he soothes her, gasping deeply, and Luke steps in. 

 

“He’s going to be fine, BB,” Luke says, turning a stern look on Poe.  “As long as he stops trying to overdo things.”

 

“Right,” Poe agrees meekly, and BB giggles at the way Poe pretends to slump as though he’s been scolded. 

 

“I heard something last night at the Russian princess’s house,” BB reports, sitting back on the bed by Poe’s knee.  Luke jerks his head at Rey, who rolls her eyes and steps into the hall, closing the door but he doesn’t hear her footsteps walk away.  He doesn’t bother chasing her off.  With any luck, she’ll report what she hears to Leia so he doesn’t have to.

 

Poe nods at BB, and she takes a deep breath.  “So the lady was mad about something, she threw one of her fancy crystal bottles at the ginger man.”

 

“Ginger?” Poe asks, looking blank.  BB tugs on one of her orange curls demonstratively, making a rude noise.

 

“Like me, but real,” she tells him.  “Ginger man asked if somebody called Snoke had been told, he sounds like he might be the boss.  Then Phasma says something about how if a sleeping man is making mistakes she can’t be a queen, and then where will they all be?” She gives Poe a questioning look, but apparently that makes some sort of sense to him, because he nods knowingly. 

 

“Then a man shows up.  He was wearing a hood, so I couldn’t get a look at his face, but they started talking mostly in English.  He says the prince will survive, and everyone relaxed,” she reports.

 

Poe stiffens, looking surprised.  “Prince?” he repeats carefully.  “Not tsar? Or tsesarevich?”

 

“Nope, he said _príncipe_ ,” she says smugly.  “And I thought you were just my _Hada Madrina_.”

 

“He’s not a prince, BB,” Luke reassures her, and BB rolls her eyes. 

 

“He could be, if he does something dumb,” she retorts, looking at Luke like he’s being particularly dim.  “Like overthrowing the queen and marrying a Russian princess.”

 

Luke raises an eyebrow, looking at Poe, who shrugs.  “Too much work,” Poe quips, smiling at him.  “Better things here.”

 

Luke flushes, and BB looks surprised.  “So we’re staying here?” she asks glumly.

 

“Let’s discuss where you’re staying,” Luke remarks sternly.  “An abandoned building where street orphans flop?”

 

“BB!” Poe objects, coughing slightly.  She has the good sense to look abashed, even though her eyes glitter angrily in Luke’s direction.

 

“Well, I don’t wanna serve in a big house, and I don’t wanna be a lady,” she objects.

 

“What about going to school?” Luke suggests, surprising them both judging by the way they both turn and give him scarily similar looks.  It’s suddenly crystal clear to him that if Poe had better circumstances, she would be his daughter in everything but genetics. 

 

“What, like sewing school or fancy girl things?” BB asks skeptically. 

 

“My ward attends medical school with a young woman, it’s not unprecedented,” Luke replies.  “You speak at least four languages, is that right?”

 

“I need more Russian lessons,” BB corrects him, shaking her head.  “Three and a half, and mostly I only speak the bad stuff.”

 

“Think about it,” Luke urges her, looking over her head to find Poe gazing at him in that soft terrible way that made Luke’s insides flutter horribly.  He opens the door, smirking when Rey jumps, looking startled, and beckons BB over.  “Go with Rey, maybe she can show you some of her school books.”

 

“ _Ça va_ ,” BB agrees, giving Poe a sly smile.  “I like this one, you can keep him around if you really want to.”

 

“Thanks,” Poe says dryly, letting her hug him once more, not objecting when she holds on for a long moment, before she scurries after Rey.

 

“I can’t decide which one of them will be a worse influence on the other,” Luke muses, turning back to see Poe sliding himself out of bed.  “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Garden,” Poe says smugly.  “Walk.”

 

Poe moves slowly, and Luke can’t resist the urge to hover as he helps him into a dressing gown and shoes, but Finn beams approvingly when he spots them shuffling out into the hall.  “Good, you’re up!” he praises Poe.  “Don’t let him get too tired, and make sure you have hold of his arm on the stairs,” he reminds Luke sternly.

 

Poe looks all too delighted to loop an arm through Luke’s, and true to Finn’s prediction, the stairs do take a great deal of patience, Poe’s muscles fighting him as they walk.  Luke lets Poe pause at the bottom of the stairs, leaning together and listening till Poe’s greedy gulping at the air subsides.  “Are you sure you want to keep going?” Luke asks, and Poe nods.

 

“Helping,” Poe admits, but he holds onto Luke’s arm as they pass through the house and out the side door into the Solo House’s high walled garden.  Leia’s fond of lilacs, so the garden path is built of the towering purple bushes.  Luke starts to let go, but Poe hangs on, giving Luke a quick wink.  “Don’t go anywhere.”

 

“All right,” Luke agrees, amused in spite of himself.  A quiet Poe isn’t anything new, but somehow, with this strange thing between them, he feels like he ought to be talking.  “I guess it’s good I got you paints, Finn says you’ll need to take it easy for a few days,” he tries, and Poe smiles.  “And I’ll try to convince BB to stay, at least a few days, because—”

 

Poe stops abruptly, bringing his free hand up so he can clumsily press fingertips against Luke’s lips.  “We’ll talk,” he promises, smiling lopsidedly.  “Tomorrow.”

 

Luke nods, since Poe hasn’t moved his fingers away, and Poe tilts his hand, fingers splaying over Luke’s cheek then his thumb rising to trace the line of Luke’s lower lip.  “What are you--?” Luke starts to ask, then Poe leans in and his words evaporate. 

 

Poe’s kisses are gentle, brief so he can pull back and breathe softly, but he slides back in over and over, first dropping a tiny brief kiss in place of his pinkie finger and tucking it away.  Next, he does the same with his ring finger, and Luke’s body starts to thrum with anticipation as he figures out the game.  The next two kisses he finds himself leaning into, eyes slipping closed, but then Poe just leaves his thumb in place against Luke’s lower lip.  Luke opens his eyes, lips parting to voice his disappointment, but he hesitates, finding Poe watching him intently, almost like he’s waiting.

 

Oh. 

 

Ever so slowly, Luke leans in, and as he presses their lips together, Poe slides his thumb out and brings his hand up to cradle Luke’s head, fingers tangling in his hair.  It’s hardly any different from the last kiss they shared, easy and chaste, except since he’s started it and allowing it, it makes him shiver all over, excited and elated all at once.  He’s done this, he gets to kiss Poe.  He knows he should keep the kiss gentle, but then Poe presses closer to him, and Luke _wants_.  Poe opens to the kiss all too easily, letting Luke deepen it and taste him, making a needy little noise before pulling back, breath panting in quick puffs against Luke’s lips as he rests his forehead against Luke’s. 

 

“Sorry,” Luke murmurs, and Poe huffs out a weak laugh.

 

“Worth it,” he counters.  “Just wait till… I’m better.  I’ll make it great.”

 

“Already amazing,” Luke says softly.  “We should get you back inside.”

 

“Just a little further?” Poe asks, and Luke humors him, keeping their arms linked.

 

* * *

 

Poe wakes up late the next morning, still weary but his breathing has evened out and deepened, which has nicely cleared his head as well.  He checks on Leia, finding her up and about as well, but Han is fighting tremors and numbness in his feet now.  “He just wants my attention,” Leia informs Poe, though the worried lines around her eyes give her away.  “He’ll regret it now that he has it,” she promises, forcing a smile, and Poe lets her have the lie.

 

Finn walks him back to Skywalker House early in the afternoon so he can take some time to rest himself, and BB runs out to meet them as soon as she spots them coming.  Instead of going up to his room, he has Finn leave him and BB in his art room with his paints and charcoals, and BB gives him a suspicious look. 

 

 

“You’ve got a hunch,” BB accuses him, and Poe grins at her, even though his heart feels like a stone in his chest.

 

“Indeed I do,” he replies, starting a sketch.  “Let’s start with Ginger.”

 

“Ooh, I love when you do this!” BB trills, hopping up and joining him at his table. 

 

An hour later, Poe has a pair of finished sketches in front of him.  BB helped him create the first drawing, and thanks to her descriptions, now he knows what Ginger looks like.  But now that he knows what Ginger looks like, his suspicions are prickling terribly at him, the name Snoke fixed in his memory.  He has to be wrong, he thinks, putting on some finishing touches.  Please let his suspicions be wrong.

 

He holds the drawing up and BB squints at it.  “Yes,” she says finally.  “Once. They were talking a lot about a funny word, one I couldn’t find a meaning for in English.  But whatever they wanted him to do, he seemed uncertain for a while, but then agreed he would do it.  I thought he was just another dupe, he sure didn’t seem important.”

 

Poe stares at the drawing, then folds it up carefully.  “Thanks, BB.  Cover for me?”

 

“Not likely,” she replies, but she picks up the battered school texts Rey loaned her and heads out of the room.  Poe slips out the side door, but when he reaches the Solo House, he dips around to the servants’ entrance, sending a young woman to find Eliza Atsy for him while he waits in the kitchen.

 

“Are you even supposed to be up and around?” Wexley asks suspiciously, and Poe flashes a grin at the chef.

 

“Don’t I look fine?” he asks.

 

“You look like trouble,” Wexley grumbles, but gives him a fresh biscuit anyway.

 

Miss Atsy looks curious when she joins them, and Poe checks the kitchen for prying ears before he speaks.  “Where is Ben Solo?” he asks, and she shrugs.

 

“Gone since early this morning,” she replies. 

 

“If he returns, I need to know at once,” he tells her, and she nods.  He considers his options, then sighs.  “All right, I need a moment alone with General Solo.”

 

“It won’t be easy,” she warns him.  “He’s taken a downturn since this morning.”

 

Poe’s heart squeezes, but he stiffens his resolve.  “Then it’s imperative,” he says grimly.

 

“Come on,” she sighs, leading him out to the hallway.  She pauses by a blank wall, checking around them, then pops the panel open.  Poe curses, impressed, and then ducks inside to follow her through a hidden passage that winds its way up to the corridor outside the second floor bedrooms.  A small hole for looking through has been cut into the wall, and Miss Atsy shows him this and how to work the hidden latch. 

 

“I think you’re in luck, Rey took her mother to lie down a bit ago.  It should just be the Reverend in there now,” she tells him, sighing. 

 

“And his man, watching the door?” Poe asks.  Nien is standing beside the door, obviously guarding it.

 

“I put him there,” she replies, and Poe has to smile.  In this house, the women run the show.

 

He watches her cross the hall, having a quiet word with Nien, who looks right at Poe’s hiding place for a brief moment.  Then she vanishes into the bedroom.

 

It takes a few minutes, but Reverend Kenobi emerges with her, looking harried but following her, gesturing for Nien to step in and keep an eye on Han.  Nien nods, but waits, then signals Poe once the pair moves off down the stairs.

 

“Thank you,” Poe says quietly to Nien before closing the door. 

 

Han grunts, stirring, and sighs.  “Dameron.  Should have guessed you’d be by.  You figure it out?”  His lungs and voice are labored, but he can string sentences together still.

 

“The brandy,” Poe replies heavily.  “The weaker doses in my drink and Leia’s.  He probably had to split one dose and hope.  He must have handed the glass intended for Leia to you.”

 

Han chuckles weakly.  “Dameron, the mission may have been intended to kill Leia, but he accepted because it meant killing me, and you’ve been here long enough to know it.  How’d you figure it out?”

 

Poe sits down in the chair next to the bed, sighing.  “BB, my protégé.  She saw him at Baroness Minka’s home.”

 

“That's the alias for the Russian princess, what’s her name, Phasma?” Han recalls, coughing violently.

 

“Yes, sir, one and the same,” Poe confirms.  “How did you know it was him?”

 

“I could see it, when he came to see me yesterday,” Han replies.  “It’s taking longer than he’d thought.”

 

“Sir, you can’t think that way,” Poe tries, and Han laughs, harsh and cruel sounding.

 

“Don’t try to bluff a bluffer, kid,” Han says weakly.  “I’ve lost feeling in both my legs and my left arm.  Only a matter of time now before something vital goes.”

 

Poe stays silent, unable to offer anything useful to the man.  Han nods, looking oddly satisfied.  “Listen, I’m about to lay in plans, and crossing you off my list helps.  I’ve got a handful of tasks for you.”

 

“Name them,” Poe says, reckless as ever with his promises when it comes to dying men. 

 

“I need to talk with Rey, secretly, and I need you and Nien to then swear if you’re ever asked about that meeting, you’ll say it never happened.”

 

“I can do that,” Poe agrees.

 

“I took the liberty to request my solicitor when you sent Miss Atsy in, so Kenobi’s gone to send lads to fetch him, and to fetch Lando,” Han continues.  “Kenobi and Nien will close the room up at my request once they arrive, then when the solicitor goes, they’ll only allow in Leia and Lando.”

 

Poe struggles with that for a moment.  “Luke,” he starts to say, and Han nods.

 

“I need you to keep him distracted.  I won’t be another bloody deathbed image in his mind.  Nor Lord Bacca’s.”  Poe dimly recalls that Bacca served under Solo’s command many years ago.  “Lando’s pragmatic and knows how to keep silent about anything he may suss out.  He’s the best man for the job.”

 

Poe nods, swallowing down a swell of grief.  He’s become surprisingly fond of Han in all too short of a time.  “There’s another reason Luke has to be distracted,” Han says, and it takes Poe a shamefully long time to piece together all of Han’s machinations.

 

“It’s a tall order,” he says, and Han’s laugh is a raspy rattle in his throat.

 

“You love him?” Han sounds smug, and looks even more smug when Poe doesn’t answer.  “Thought so.  I’m sure you’ll know what to do then.  Don’t bloody understand it, but…” he trails off, and something in the fondness in his face tells Poe he’s thinking about Luke.  “Take care of him for me, Poe.”

 

“I hate you for asking this,” Poe whispers.

 

“I know,” Han agrees.  “But I have to protect Leia and Rey.”

 

“Distracting Leia,” Poe starts, then bites his lip when Han gives him a pointed look.

 

“She’s about to be plenty distracted,” he reminds Poe.

 

“It’s been an honor, sir,” Poe says, standing slowly. Han nods as his eyes drift closed and doesn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

Luke barely looks up when Poe raps his knuckles on his door frame, concluding his letter as Poe steps in and closes the adjoining bedroom door behind him.  “Your timing is excellent, I just finished,” Luke remarks, signing with a flourish then setting it aside.  He turns and takes in Poe’s face.

 

Poe looks pale, but not in sickness, not with the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears.  “Han,” Luke murmurs, and Poe nods.  “Is he--?”

 

“Not yet, but it won’t be long.  He asked that you not be admitted,” Poe replies.  It stings, until Poe continues.  “No one but Lord Calrissian and Lady Solo.  Even Rey, Ben, Finn… you’re all to be turned away.  He asked me to tell you… he said he didn’t want to be another deathbed memory for you.  And he asked me to distract you.”

 

At least they’d spoken that morning, quiet and fond, for some time before sleep had reclaimed Han, Luke thinks sadly.  His brother in law was probably right to force that to be Luke’s last memory.  It hangs golden with hope and love in Luke’s mind, unlike anything he’d find in the deathbed vigil Han keeps now. 

 

Mara’s deathbed had been dark, air thick and choked with the scent of blood, her last words angry and spiteful.  Han had been the one who dragged him from the room, sitting him down with a stiff drink and strong words about her guilt belonging only to her. 

 

Luke gazes over at Poe, terrified by the spy’s honesty.  “I don’t think he wanted you to tell me that last part,” Luke says hoarsely, slumping in his chair. 

 

“I promised you as much truth as I can give,” Poe reminds him, holding his distance.  “And I found I could not take away your choice in how you want to grieve.”

 

“And if I choose to be distracted?” Luke asks, feeling cruel as he says it and hating Han for asking his lover to do this.  “Will you distract me?”

 

“In any way you choose,” Poe replies simply.  Luke stands, moving quickly and shoving Poe hard, knocking him into the wall.  Poe allows it, clearly willing to let Luke hurt him, and Luke crumbles, stifling his sob into Poe’s shoulder.  Poe’s arms encircle him instantly, pulling him in tighter and holding him.  Poe doesn’t try to stop him, simply strokes his hair gently with one hand and holds him tightly with the other.

 

Luke’s head aches by the time he cries himself out, something hollow and numb eating into him every time he thinks about how he’s about to lose his brother.  “Come on,” Poe urges him gently, guiding him over to the bed.

 

“I should tell Finn, the staff” Luke sniffles miserably, but Poe just continues to herd him to bed. 

 

“Finn’s staying with Rey,” Poe reassures Luke.  “And I took care of the staff before coming to find you.”

 

Once Luke is sitting on the bed, Poe carefully starts removing some of his layers.  The cravat is untied, slowly and with even more care than Artie uses.  Poe’s fingers glide over his arms when his jacket comes off.  He kneels down, slowly removing Luke’s boots, hands pressed against Luke’s calves.  “Enough,” Poe decides, gently guiding Luke to lie back, then showing decidedly less care when he slips off his own coat and boots. 

 

Poe climbs onto the bed next to Luke, pulling him back into a careful embrace.  “I don’t understand,” Luke admits, even as he tucks himself into Poe’s arms a little tighter.  “You’re not going to… we’re not going to fuck?”

 

“Are you wanting to have relations right now?” Poe asks, forehead wrinkling.  Luke shakes his head slowly, and Poe smiles softly.  “Me neither.  I’d like to, and soon, but right now, I’d rather just hold you.”

 

“Oh,” Luke feels something warm and strange echo through him in spite of the hollowness, and with a sudden blinding bit of comprehension, he realizes he’s fallen in love with Poe.  He has no clue when it happened, but he knows, with absolute certainty, he’s given this man his heart and soul.  “I need to kiss you now,” he blurts out, flushing and drawing a faint puzzled smile from Poe, but Poe leans in obligingly anyway.

 

Third time kissing and it’s still different, Luke muses, Poe trying to devour him just as desperately as he tries to consume Poe, this kiss too heated to last and yet it does, both of them trying to pull the other closer.  Luke’s not sure where that heat could have led, feeling frantic as he manages to get his hands under Poe’s shirt, clenching his hands on warm skin, but Poe takes control of the kiss, tipping Luke onto his back and slowing the kiss.  He doesn’t move Luke’s hands though, so Luke lets his palms curl around Poe’s ribs, sighing a little.

 

Poe doesn’t stop kissing him, even though it turns gentler, so Luke lets himself get wrapped up in Poe, in the feeling of Poe’s heartbeat through his ribs, the soft slide of lips, everything so warm.  When Poe finally breaks the kisses, he doesn’t pull back far, just enough to look down on Luke, stroking his hair lightly.  “We should talk a little, if you’re up for it, but if not now, we do need to talk before we go any further,” Poe remarks, and Luke frowns.

 

“What about?”

 

“Have you ever been with a man?” Poe asks, and Luke can feel his face flush as he shakes his head.  Poe looks thoughtful, but the gentle stroking of his hand never stops, which helps Luke stay calm.  “Have you ever been with anyone other than your wife?” Poe inquires, and Luke shakes his head again.  “Huh.  I guess I’m not surprised.”

 

“You’ve been with other men and women?” Luke guesses, amazed that he manages the words through the feeling of his face on fire.    

 

“I have,” Poe confirms, and Luke doesn’t know how he can seem so calm and cool.  “One time with a woman when I was much younger was enough to confirm I never wanted to do it again.  And there have been a few men over the years.  But I suppose I’m a romantic – monogamy suits me best. I’ve only managed that sort of relationship once before, but it spanned years.”

 

“What happened?” Luke asks curiously.

 

“He died,” Poe’s eyes flutter closed, hand pausing in its motion for a moment, but then he seems to pull his wits together again.  “The mission I met BB on almost four years ago?  It was violent, dangerous, and I barely managed to walk away myself.  I probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t met her, especially since I’d lost him by then, and I wasn’t nearly sharp enough to pull myself through it.”

 

Luke shivers a little, gratitude to BB swelling.  “I’m glad she got you through it,” he murmurs, sliding his hands down then back up along Poe’s sides.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“The point of the story was supposed to be reassuring you that what I want for us is something long lasting and exclusive,” Poe chuffs, leaning onto his side a little.  Luke turns with him, unwilling to give up his hold on Poe’s skin. 

 

“I never doubted that, though I do wonder about the practicality of such a thing,” Luke remarks.  “I’m not ignorant of the fact that at any time your queen could press you back into service leagues away from here.”

 

“You wouldn’t wait for me?” Poe teases Luke, and Luke frowns, having not thought about it nearly enough.  It would mean months of discrete, practically coded letters at best, years of little to no contact at all at worst.  “Hey, relax, I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Poe tries to reassure him, and that sits even more poorly with Luke.

 

“I want to ask that of myself,” Luke admits, sighing.  “Would you allow that?  For us to think of this as a marriage in the privacy of our own minds and beds?”

 

Poe pauses, thoughtful.  “If it was still what you wanted after our first time apart, then yes,” he agrees at last.  “But I feel it would be unfair to you to agree to it until you’ve had a taste of what this secret life feels like.  Of never being able to take my arm or hold me in public, to forever be considered potentially eligible bachelors for the rest of our lives.  It can be difficult.”

 

“So we try this out for a while, perhaps as though auditioning for what such a commitment will be like?” Luke replies, pleased when that makes Poe smile.  “I can agree to that.”

 

“I hate to ask this once your face has finally returned to its natural color, but I do have more terrible questions to ask you,” Poe says, and Luke obligingly buries his face into Poe’s shoulder.

 

“Can’t you just assume I’m spectacularly ignorant?” Luke whines, and Poe chuckles, the rumbling noise vibrating through Luke’s body pleasantly.

 

“I’d already reached that conclusion, darling,” Poe reassures him.  “Now I’m determining how spectacularly.”

 

Luke huffs out an exasperated breath.  “My wife was not keen on having relations,” he admits.  “We did upon occasion, but it was always clear it was something of a chore for her, and I never pressed for anything more.  I didn’t take much enjoyment from being with someone who so clearly didn’t enjoy the act.  It felt wrong.  Perhaps that should have been a warning to me about the fact that I was nothing more than convenient cover for her mission, but we were not overly fond of each other either, so seeking her out was not high on my list of priorities.”

 

“I’m somewhat glad to hear you say that,” Poe admits, which makes Luke shoot him a questioning look.  “I’ve known spies who would have convinced their lovers it was something unpleasant about them in order to enforce distance.  I was half worried I’d have to convince you that this will be enjoyable.”

 

“I suppose I do wonder how comfortable being fucked can be, especially as little as my wife enjoyed it,” Luke admits. 

 

“You keep jumping straight to that,” Poe observes curiously.  “Did your wife never use her hand or her mouth on you?”

 

Luke flushes hard as he shakes his head, and Poe looks a little crestfallen.  “I did not count on being the first to introduce you to so much,” he admits, but then he smiles faintly.  “It’s sort of an embarrassment of riches.”

 

It takes Luke a moment to catch up, then he scowls.  “I’m not exactly a blushing virgin here,” he objects, and Poe chuckles, brushing his knuckles gently along Luke’s heated cheek.

 

“You keep thinking that, darling, but your cheeks certainly contradict most of that statement.  I suspect half the things I plan to do to you as soon as possible will end up rearranging your universe.”

 

“Quite the ego on you, Commander,” Luke replies around a yawn.  He suspects his grief is catching back up to him, leaving his body strangely tired.

 

“It’s only ego if I don’t back it up,” Poe shoots back, and his hand comes back up, resuming the gentle threading of his fingers through Luke’s hair.  Luke leans into it, humming slightly, and Poe smiles.  “See, you’re already practically purring like a house cat for me.”

 

Luke would deny it, but he’s too busy burrowing into Poe’s arms.  Poe helps tug him closer, sliding up a little so Luke can nestle his head against Poe’s shoulder and Poe can continue to gently stroke his hair.  “Sleep, Luke,” Poe whispers, planting a kiss on his forehead.  “I’ll wake you for dinner.”


	6. Chapter 6

Luke wakes slowly, finding the room rather dim, only a single lamp lit which Poe has moved it over to the far side of the room.  “What happened to your promise of waking me for dinner?”  Luke asks, and Poe nods to the tray next to his bed. 

 

“I brought it in just a bit ago,” Poe replies.  “It’s a cold meal though, and there’s no news from Solo House yet, so I figured I’d let you continue to sleep.”

 

“No news?” Luke tries to feel surprised, but Han won’t go easily, even if he knows it’s a losing battle.  “Has Finn come back at all?”

 

“The staff didn’t mention it,” Poe says, turning back to some paperwork he’s been working on at Luke’s desk.  “I don’t think he’s been back here at all this afternoon.”

 

Luke stretches, then examines the cold dinner.  “Did you eat?”

 

Poe nods, and Luke sees that while Poe brought over his own tray from his room, it sits untouched by the table.  He pulls both trays over to the table, then goes to Poe, hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder.  Poe doesn’t cover the letter, probably because Luke can’t read the flowing Spanish anyway.  “Come eat?” Luke asks softly, nudging his nose gently against the skin just behind Poe’s earlobe.  Poe’s shoulders release some tension, head falling back just enough to rest against Luke’s shoulder.  “Unless it’s important?”

 

“Not that important,” Poe confirms, so Luke leans over and presses a kiss to the nearest part of Poe he can reach, lips brushing over the jumping pulse in Poe’s neck.  Poe sighs at the touch, the muscles of his neck and shoulders loosening further, making Luke smile to himself.

 

“Then maybe after we eat, you can work on your grand promises of rearranging the universe,” Luke suggests impishly.  Sitting vigil this way is making him prickle with unused energy, and if Poe’s willing, he figures they can expend a little of it together.

 

Poe perks up, tilting his head over toward Luke.  “You’re sure?” he asks, grinning sheepishly at his own eagerness.  He folds away his letter and lets Luke lead him over to the table, helping himself to a bit of soft cheese and an apple slice off one of the plates.  He offers a second slice to Luke, who reaches to take it, but then Poe slides it out of reach, eyes sparkling.  It takes him a moment, then he understands, leaning in and letting Poe feed him the slice. 

 

He lets his lips close against Poe’s fingertips, enjoying the way Poe’s eyes darken, pupils blown wide.  He’s not quite sure how they make it through dinner, teasing and nipping at each other’s fingertips.  Luke sucks one of Poe’s fingers into his mouth just for the satisfaction of watching the other man adjust his posture conspicuously. 

 

Poe watches Luke as he finishes his wine, and Luke suddenly flushes, unaccountably uncertain of what to do next or where to move his hands.  Poe seems to take this in all too quickly because he has Luke up and in his arms for a fierce kiss before Luke can start thinking too hard.  “Trust me?” Poe asks, resting his forehead against Luke’s, and Luke nods.  “Just let me take care of you tonight.”

 

It’s easy to let Poe take control, his body melting as Poe’s mouth finds his neck.  His high necked shirt is in Poe’s way, then not, and it takes Luke a moment to realize Poe’s deft fingers have started slipping his shirt buttons apart.  He starts to shift, suddenly feeling exposed, and Poe’s teeth scrape along his throat, blanking out his mind.  “Shh, it’s just me,” Poe reminds him, lifting his head and claiming Luke’s mouth in a kiss as he finishes opening Luke’s shirt. 

 

Poe’s hands sweep up Luke’s torso, reminding him of how eager he’d been to touch Poe’s bare skin earlier, and it makes it easier to relax into the touch, accepting the utterly thrilling shudders it sends through him.   Luke suddenly knows what to do with his hands and quickly goes to work on Poe’s shirt, eager to get Poe’s skin within easy reach once more.  Poe huffs softly but goes back to planting kisses along Luke’s jaw, letting Luke slide his shirt off.  He waits till Luke’s worked the shirt off of his wrists before he slides Luke’s own shirt down his shoulders.  This time, when Poe brings their bodies back together and gathers Luke in a kiss, bare skin slides against bare skin, and Luke groans into the kiss. 

 

Without breaking the kiss, Poe shifts their bodies, slowly guiding Luke to the bed.  When the back of Luke’s knees hit the mattress, Poe shoves, and Luke goes sprawling out on his back, surprised while Poe smirks down at him.  Poe’s skin glows with rich color, dark against Luke’s English pallor, and the contrast fascinates him a little as Poe trails his fingers up Luke’s stomach.  His body isn’t as firm and slender as it once was, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Poe, who simply slides his fingers up slowly until they find Luke’s nipples.  Luke’s a little puzzled, until Poe starts teasing them, rubbing callous roughed thumbs against the nubs, and it’s like a live wire, sensation arcing through him and making him cry out. 

 

Poe keeps playing, rubbing and teasing mercilessly, then suddenly he pinches down hard, and Luke’s back arches into the hot, sharp sensation.  “Oh mercy,” Luke half sobs, feeling about like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin.  Poe takes in his plea, and with a too knowing look, releases his hold.  Blood abruptly swells into the abused skin and brings the sting back all over again, but Luke barely has time to make a noise of protest before Poe’s mouth sucks gently at his chest, now soothing him. 

 

Poe’s mouth doesn’t stop roaming though, and it begins sliding down over Luke’s stomach, tongue tasting, teeth scraping, and his hands are making easy work of the buttons on Luke’s trousers.  Luke feels himself tense slightly as his trousers fall loose about his hips, and Poe pauses, resting his chin on the swell of Luke’s hip. 

 

“Just me, remember?” he says, and Luke nods, lifting his hips as Poe slides the last his clothes away, leaving him completely bare.  He’s hard, harder than he can ever remember having been before, but he doesn’t have time to feel shy or embarrassed before Poe has his hand wrapped around Luke’s erection, slowly sliding his fingers around it and gently pumping it.  Luke whines in the back of his throat, trying to breathe deeply and stop himself from coming right then and there.

 

“Gorgeous,” Poe murmurs, and Luke realizes Poe isn’t looking at his dick but instead is gazing at his face and watching him struggle not to fall apart.  Those coal dark eyes stay locked on his face, and Luke can’t look away even as Poe lowers his mouth so he can lap at the crown of Luke’s cock, delicately tasting him.

 

“Poe, god, Poe,” Luke groans, cock dribbling precome as Poe teases it with his tongue.  He shouts as Poe closes his mouth around him, drawing him into his mouth, hot and tight and it’s all Luke can do not to buck his hips wildly into the sensation.  Poe has hold of his hips, the grip firm and controlling him, even as he sinks his mouth lower and lower, taking in more of Luke.  Just when Luke thinks Poe can’t possibly fit anything more in his mouth, Poe’s throat sort of swallows around him, and he does jerk up, finding Poe’s grip has loosened after swallowing him down.  Poe bobs his head, encouraging Luke, and Luke thrusts helplessly, world contracting down to nothing but the warm, tight heat of Poe’s mouth on his cock.

 

He feels himself hurtling closer to completion and tries to warn Poe, tugging gently at his head, but Poe simply swallows again, sensation rippling against Luke’s erection, and brings his fingers down to tease the skin behind Luke’s balls, which tips him over the edge with a blinding wave of pleasure. 

 

Luke slowly comes back to himself, trying to process what has just happened.  His breathing is starting to even out, and he becomes aware of Poe lying next to him on the bed, running gentle fingers up and down Luke’s breastbone.  “Are you back with me?” Poe asks softly, and Luke manages to nod and force his eyes open.  Poe looks unbearably soft and fond, and the stroking doesn’t stop, so Luke decides he can live with the fact that Poe has quite effectively kept his promise to realign the cosmos for him.  And most unfairly, he’s done it without even removing his own pants.

 

“Are you all right?” Poe asks, and Luke swallows hard.

 

“It was never like this,” he manages, feeling oddly raw and exposed.  “Why?”

 

“Because I…” Poe swallows oddly, eyes shining softly as he strokes the back of two fingers along Luke’s face.  “I want to make you feel this way.  I want to make you happy and whole and bring you bliss.”

 

“And she never did,” Luke concludes sadly.  “God, if I’d never let you in…”  He can’t imagine not having known how different this could be.  What he could have. 

 

“But you did,” Poe says lightly, smiling and darting to kiss the corner of Luke’s mouth.  “And I’m going to make sure you understand how marvelous and amazing I find you, for as long as you’ll let me, Luke.”

 

“Can you teach me how to make you feel this way?” he asks softly, and Poe laughs, nodding.

 

“I’m certainly not selfless enough to deny that request,” he replies, and Luke notices the bulge in Poe’s trousers.  He reaches out, cupping Poe’s erection daringly, and is rewarded by Poe’s eyes rolling back in his head as he groans.  “Hand, easy enough, let’s start there,” Poe stammers, shimmying out of his trousers gracelessly and flinging them to the side.  Luke is once again struck by how terribly gorgeous Poe’s body is aesthetically, muscles from years of service cording up his torso and down his legs in a way that would make Michelangelo reach for a chisel.  

 

“Can I…?” he pauses, uncertain what he wants to ask.

 

“You can touch, taste, whatever you’d like,” Poe tells him.  “If you do something I don’t like, I’ll tell you.”

 

Luke’s not entirely certain what to do with such expansive permission, but he gives in to his impulse to touch, sliding a hand up along the ridges of Poe’s stomach.  The muscles flex a little under his hand, and he looks curiously at Poe, who is trying not to smile.  “I’m a little ticklish,” Poe admits, and impishly, Luke draws his hands up to fingertips and lightly swirls them over Poe’s skin, delighted when it makes the other man giggle helplessly even as he tries to choke it back. 

 

Poe’s cock stays rigid and curved up against his hip, so Luke doesn’t stop, exploring the parts of Poe that make him light up and laugh, memorizing them.  He stops when he reaches Poe’s ribs, repeating what Poe had tried to him, thumbs stroking over the other man’s nipples.  Poe sighs a little, but doesn’t seem to be as sensitive to the touch as Luke proved to be, so Luke tries scraping a nail across the nub instead.  Poe hisses, arching his back a little.  Luke hesitates, but Poe nods encouragingly.

 

“I like sensations a little sharper,” he confirms, making a low guttural noise when Luke repeats the motion and scrapes the other nipple.  He tries pinching, and Poe’s hips buck, rubbing against Luke leg and drawing his attention back down to Poe’s hard and now leaking cock. 

 

“Tell me what to do,” Luke says softly, dropping his hand down and stroking his fingers over the hard shaft. 

 

“Tighten your fingers a little, then rub up and down,” Poe directs him, and Luke complies, knowing he’s gotten the right tightness when Poe’s eyes close and he draws in a shaky breath.  Luke rolls his fist up and down, finding Poe thrusts into his grip, which gets easier as his cock continues to leak, making Luke’s hand slick. 

 

He notices the way Poe whimpers when his fist brushes along the crown of Poe’s erection, so he brings his thumb up to slide the foreskin back a little further and rubs at the slit, making Poe curse quite vividly.  “Fuck, god, yes please, Luke, there,” Poe groans, and Luke grins even as he repositions his thumb so it slides up against the slit with every upstroke, loving the way it leaves Poe shaking and panting.

 

“I’m close, Luke,” Poe warns him, and Luke pumps just a little harder, twisting his hand up so he rubs hard over the crown of Poe’s cock. Poe comes all over his hand with a shout. 

 

Poe collapses against the bedding, panting and wrung out, so Luke takes a moment to clean his hand in his bedside stand, rinsing and wiping it clean quickly.  He uses the soiled towel to clean off the seed that has spilled over Poe’s groin. Poe must be sensitive, because it draws a small moan from the man and brings him back to himself.  “Christ, you’re a quick study, aren’t you?” Poe remarks, sounding terribly pleased.

 

“Good subject to work on,” Luke quips back, letting Poe pull him down to the bed beside him and leans in to kiss Poe soundly.  He feels oddly sated and lazy as he kisses Poe, and he can’t imagine how he lived without this.  It makes Poe’s reminder that the dictates of their lives mean he will often have to part with this all the more bittersweet.

 

“You should get some more rest, while we can,” Poe reminds him gently, pulling the blanket up so he can cover their bodies.  Luke can feel the voice in his mind scolding him, telling him they should be more careful, should get up and dress for bed at least, but just this time, he decides, he wants Poe in his arms, and nothing else between them. 

 

He drowses for a long time, fingers slowly soothing every bit of Poe he can find without disturbing the other man’s rest, and eventually, he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

The quick coded rap on the outside door wakes Poe, even from three floors away, and he carefully extracts himself from Luke’s embrace, sliding back to his own room and slipping on a sleep shirt and dressing gown before the tap on his own door sounds. 

 

Artie doesn’t have to say anything, Poe just nods when he sees the valet’s face and resists the old urge to cross himself.  He hasn’t given into that urge since France almost four years ago.  “I’ll wake Luke and tell him,” Poe says, and the valet hesitates.  “Something more?”

 

“There’s some concern growing,” Artie admits.  “We can’t find Finn or Miss Solo.  And…”

 

Poe sighs, because he actually suspects he knows a great deal about what’s happening now.  “Yes?” he asks impatiently.

 

“They called a carriage,” Artie confesses, looking abashed.  “There seems to be some concern they’ve gone to Gretna Green.”

 

“How large is their head start?” Poe asks.  He’s pretty sure that’s what he would be expected to ask right now.

 

“Half a day, we think.  It could be more.  We could send someone to fetch them back, but it is almost certainly too late,” Artie confirms.  “I cannot for the life of me fathom what they could have been thinking.”

 

“They were thinking Ben Solo would certainly never allow the marriage,” Poe says softly.  “And unfair as life is, he is now Lord Solo and will likely turn her out.”

 

“Sir?” Artie appears confused, then draws back slightly, making a startled noise.  “Surely not.  You can’t think Ben…”

 

“Let’s keep that under our hats for now, Artie,” Poe suggests.  “I certainly wouldn’t want to poison Luke or Leia’s minds if I were to be proven wrong.”

 

“As you say,” Artie sounds doubtful, but looks over at Luke’s door.  “Will you bear this bad news as well?”

 

“What will he do?” Poe asks unhappily.  “I somehow don’t believe him capable of disowning his ward.”

 

“Lord Skywalker will likely be terrifically angry and then quickly cool off,” Artie predicts.  “And he will then welcome Miss Solo in as a daughter.  She is as dear to him as Finn is, so I suspect it will not take long to calm him.  And with such grief, I doubt Lady Solo will long tarry in anger either.  It’s the new Lord Solo we should be worried about.”

 

More than you can know, Poe thinks, but bids Artie a good night, taking away assurances that Artie will inform any of the staff not awakened by the commotion once dawn arrives.  Poe supposes he ought to make a show of going to Luke’s door and waking the man, but Artie has already gone downstairs again, and Luke deserves so much more than a rude awakening after their first night together.

 

He slips back through the adjoining door and settles onto the bed again, letting the mattress dip and move in a way that stirs Luke.  Luke turns into his embrace sleepily, then blinks his eyes open when his hands tangle in Poe’s dressing gown.  “You’ve been awake,” he starts, and Poe can see the realization set in.  “Oh.” 

 

Luke’s eyes slip closed, and Poe pulls him in, letting Luke hide against him in silence for a long moment.  His eyes are dry when he sits up, blankets pooling around his waist.  “We should dress, I suppose, be ready to lend a hand,” Luke says, but Poe stills him gently, pulling him back down to the bed.

 

“We’ve still got hours before dawn, and there’s more news.”  Poe suddenly wishes he’d given Luke a heads up that his godson is in love with his niece back when he’d figured it out.  “Rey and Finn have eloped, run off to Gretna Green.”

 

“That’s not funny,” Luke scowls at him, then apparently he reads Poe’s expression well enough to see Poe doesn’t find it funny either.  “What the hell?  What on earth could that idiot godson of mine be thinking?”

 

“I feel I should have taken an opportunity before now to enlighten you that they are very much besotted with each other,” Poe says sheepishly.  “I was honestly too amused by the way you seemed blind to the possibility because you seem to view your godson as blood kin.”  Luke, to his credit, acknowledges the observation with a wry little twist of his lips.

 

“Is this what Ben objected to, the reason they’ve come to blows?” Luke scowls, and Poe tries very hard not to find the indignant look on his lover’s face adorable. 

 

“I gleaned from some of the harsh words during their fight that he found Finn’s lineage lacking in a match for his sister,” Poe replies, doing a poor job of concealing his disgust.  “I gather his parents were not nearly so high born as you.”

 

“Not in the slightest, but that’s never mattered to me,” Luke’s disgust seems to mirror Poe’s own.  “Frankly, he’ll be twice the lord and gentleman his cousin ever will be.  You really think this is all because he’d be so opposed to the match?”

 

Poe hesitates a fraction too long, and Luke’s icy disappointment is quite sufficient to force the truth onto his tongue.  “I’m pretty sure, and so was Han, that Ben was behind the poisoning.  Han put something into place with his solicitor before he died.  He gave me no specifics, but if I had to guess, his amended will is probably going to read that his titles and lands will pass to Ben unless Rey marries first, and in that instance, they will pass to her husband instead.”

 

“Lord have mercy,” Luke swears softly, and to Poe’s surprise, the older man turns to him, examining his face for a long moment.  “You both believe that Ben… He’s like his grandfather, then.  Did Mara…?”

 

“I don’t know,” Poe admits.  “It’s possible, but I suspect it may be more to do with the company he keeps these days than any poison from the past.”

 

“I just wish I weren’t so blind to all these things you saw so clearly,” Luke remarks bitterly.

 

“Luke, you being blind to Rey and Finn was born of affection, not ignorance.  The same is true for any deception on the part of your nephew,” Poe reminds him, cupping the older man’s face gently.  “And if you doubt that, remember that until the action was too far underway to stop, Han, Leia and I were all just as stupidly blind and missed his betrayal ourselves.  I saw the net we were drawing and how it included his acquaintances.  I should have been more cautious, should have found his sudden gentility more suspicious.  At least your blindness came from love, not simply missing the obvious link.”

 

Luke turns his touch to soothing Poe, quieting him.  “You trusted us, my family,” Luke reminds him.  “Trusted Leia to know her family.  Christ, the pair of us, each trying to take more of the blame than the other for the same blind spot.”

 

Poe chuckles weakly, accepting the quick kiss Luke leans in to press against his lips.  “No blame taking, then.  Let Ben bear his own mistakes,” Poe remarks.  Luke nods, and Poe prays nothing turns up to suggest Mara was the one to turn Luke’s nephew.  Luke won’t ever let go of his guilt then.

 

Luke is quiet for a long moment, chewing over something worrying him, and Poe waits out the question, dreading further discussion about Russia and spies.  “And they love each other?” Luke asks softly, and Poe melts, struck by how this is the final cornerstone of Luke’s concern.

 

“Finn is so besotted that I was sure of it the moment I first saw them together.  I had my suspicions even earlier, just listening to him speak about her,” Poe replies.  “And Rey?  She shines around him.  There had to be a reason she chose to come out this season when her parents were more than ready to capitulate if she should ask to delay, and if I were a betting man, I would wager she’d decided who she would marry and was simply going through the motions to make it proper.”

 

“God help us, that does sound like my niece,” Luke groans.  “Or worse, Finn wouldn’t humor her about running away to Gretna at the end of last season, so she agreed to go through the motions with him this season.”

 

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Poe remarks, and Luke’s eyes go a little flinty.

 

“What should I do, Poe?  My brother is dead, my sister is widowed, and my lover narrowly escaped his own death, all at the hand of my nephew, who we’re hoping can be thwarted enough to keep you all still in the fight by my niece eloping with my heir!”

 

“It sounds truly terrible when you put it that way,” Poe grumbles. 

 

“Yes it does,” Luke complains, huffing out a breath noisily.  “So what should I do?”

 

“In a few hours, we’ll go over to Solo House, we’ll meet with Leia, and we’ll make a plan,” Poe supplies.

 

“And until then?” Luke asks, and Poe blinks, surprised.  Luke has looped his fingers into the knot on Poe’s dressing gown belt and is very slowly teasing it loose.

 

“Whatever you want,” Poe replies automatically.  “You’re… um, you’re not mad at me?  I promised you truth, and I didn’t enlighten you about your ward.”

 

“If you’d told me earlier today, I’d have tried to stop this nonsense,” Luke agrees, voice maddeningly calm.  “And it would have been the wrong move.”  He huffs out a breath, giving Poe a considering look.  “And you truly kept it from me before that because you found it endearing?”

 

“Truly,” Poe promises, badly hiding a smile.  “I thought… hoped, really, I might be around to see the look on your face after Finn asked for your blessing, before going to Han and Leia.  Perhaps I should have enjoyed the prospect of how attractive you are when you are caught by surprise a little less.”

 

Luke’s face flushes a little.  “I do feel foolish now, having not seen it,” he admits.  “The more I think on my godson, the more besotted actions I seem to recall.”

 

“For my part, I found your blindness to besotted fools a blessing at first,” Poe teases his lover gently.  “And later your own besottedness drove me nearly to distraction.”

 

“Me? Besotted?” Luke asks archly.

 

“You gave me paints and a whole room in your house for their use,” Poe reminds him, claiming Luke’s mouth in a searching kiss. 

 

Luke’s fingers finish untangling Poe’s knotted sash.  “Teach me something else,” Luke begs in a whisper as he opens Poe’s dressing gown.  “Send our minds somewhere else for a while.  Please, Poe.”

 

“You’re sure?” Poe asks softly.

 

“I intend to have you as often as possible, every day and every moment I can,” Luke says fiercely, and that helps settle Poe’s worries.  This mad grab for life he knows all too well, and he helps Luke strip his bedclothes away. 

 

He doesn’t try to gentle the kiss, pushing himself over Luke and pressing the older man into the bedding, keen to see if Luke will fight to be on top.  Instead, Luke simply melts under him, legs parting so Poe can slide one of his own in between Luke’s, and it seems Luke needs little encouragement to figure this out.  He pushes Luke’s hands till he has hold of them, pressing them to the bedding and holding them still alongside Luke’s head, using his mouth to tip Luke’s chin up so he can trail kisses down the edge of Luke’s jaw.  Now Luke squirms, but there’s no real effort to get away.  “Poe,” Luke groans, hips shuddering up to grind against Poe’s leg, and Poe nips at Luke’s collarbone.

 

“I don’t,” Luke gasps, a broken sound escaping as Poe rakes the edge of his teeth lightly back up over the long column of Luke’s throat.  “…Don’t think this is teaching me, Poe.”

 

“Mmm, this is teaching you that sometimes I’ll want to take you apart,” Poe informs Luke, thrusting his leg so Luke’s eyes roll back slightly in his head.  “Hold you down and just taste you until you rub yourself off against me, desperate and drunk on my touch.”  He closes his teeth on Luke’s earlobe and tugs gently, earning a whimper as Luke’s hips working hard to find friction against him.  “And sometimes,” he whispers, voice low and rough in Luke’s ear.  “I’ll beg you to be even rougher with me.”

 

Luke’s eyes fly open, surprised, and Poe rocks into meet Luke’s thrust, grinding his own erection against Luke’s hip.  “Do you like that idea?” Poe asks softly, even though Luke’s eagerness seems to speak plenty loudly.  “You were worried about being the one to get fucked, but I would want you to take me too.  I enjoy it.”

 

Luke groans, hands frantically working to slip free, so Poe lets go. Luke grabs hold of Poe’s shoulders, fingernails biting into his skin with pleasant little crescents of pain.  Poe rocks his hips back, adjusting so he can bring their hips flush, rolling his erection against Luke’s and making Luke cry out softly.  He swallows the next cry with a kiss.

 

It’s enough, for a long while, to pour himself from kiss to kiss, while their bodies rock together in a rough and ragged way that leaves them both grasping tight fingers into skin to hold in cries.  It’s Luke’s control that breaks first, hips stuttering and fingers clenching painfully tight as he tries to hold off.  “Here,” Poe reaches between them, wrapping his hand around both their erections and pumping.  He’s closer than he expects, barely hanging on till Luke arches his back and spills, then he follows Luke over the edge with a soft cry.

 

He manages to slide sideways, though he’s still mostly on top of Luke.  Luke makes a drowsy noise, and it’s only the thought of later discomfort that compels Poe to find the cloth Luke had used earlier to clean them both up now then draw the blankets up around their bodies. 

 

“You meant that?” Luke asks, and Poe realizes he’s been drifting half asleep for a while.  He hums curiously and Luke shifts so their gazes meet, his face a little blurry from pressing too close.  “You said you would want me to take you.”

 

“Oh, definitely,” Poe agrees softly.  “Next time...  I have an idea, for next time.  I’ll show you a little, maybe we’ll find out if you’d want that too.”

 

Luke looks confused, but he lets it go, deciding instead to tuck himself into Poe’s embrace with such a strange display of trust that it makes Poe’s toes curl. 

 

* * *

 

Leia greets Luke with a hug, and Poe slips away while Luke holds onto her.  The house is too quiet, the black linens already in place thanks to the staff, and she’s in black mourning clothes.  He’s pulled his own out, and Poe had pulled on his uniform, oddly appropriate in black without having to don mourning clothes that would be inappropriate given the lack of a public relationship between them.  Luke looks around, but there’s no sign of Ben.

 

“Any word on our missing idiot children?” Luke asks lowly, and Leia sighs.

 

“Lando assures me I’ll be quite amused by all of this someday, but today I’m just annoyed,” Leia replies.  “Has Dameron given you any indication of what he knows?  I find running off to Gretna a spectacularly stupid decision, without knowing Ben’s mind or giving things some time to settle.”

 

Luke starts, a little surprised to find himself in the position of knowing more than Leia, and wonders if, at least until the will reading, he shouldn’t keep it that way.  The last thing they need is Leia not being surprised enough at any new conditions Han has put into the will.  Not to mention the connections are there, easy to make as Poe and Han had done, but Leia hasn’t made them.  She’s beyond distracted, and the closer Luke looks at her, the heavier the fog of unacknowledged grief around her seems.  “Poe mentioned that Ben objected to Finn as a match for Rey.  Their recent skirmishes had to do with Ben being quite vocal about Finn’s lack of aristocratic breeding, apparently.  Poe wasn’t familiar with some of the words Ben was flinging around, unsurprisingly, given that when I pulled them out of him phonetically, they proved incredibly vulgar.”

 

“Lord, what a little monster I’ve raised,” Leia complains, shaking her head, and Luke’s stomach drops.  She’s going to be gutted when she learns the full extent of Ben’s betrayal.  “We’ve sent a man after them, to bring them home, though of course by now it is all too late for anything beyond controlling the damage to our reputations.”

 

“I know a man who can get it slipped into the papers,” Luke reminds her.  “Not that it will prevent much, but it’s one item that we can control.  From here on, it’s just about how many items at a time we can control and spin, right?”

 

Leia manages a wan smile.  “You’re right, of course.”  She gives him a curious look.  “Your man at the press. Did you mean Antilles?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Luke says, and something amused twitches at Leia’s lips all too briefly.

 

“Take Dameron with you when you see him, or I won’t be responsible for the aftermath,” she says, but she changes tracks before he can make her elaborate.  “Did disownment of your godson even occur to you?”  Luke snorts, and Leia nods.  “I thought not,” she remarks.  “You’re a better man than I would be, Luke.”

 

He leaves her with Lady Calrissian rather than tackle that statement, and then becomes curious to find where Poe has wandered off to.  He regrets it when he does track Poe down, finding his lover has been cornered in the study by Ben Solo.  He stays in the shadows of the hallway, listening.

 

“Really, it’s your own fault you’re no longer trusted,” he hears Poe say scornfully to Ben.  “Only half the job done, and I can hardly believe my poisoning was part of the Russians’ grand plan.”

 

“I told you, I mixed up the glasses for you and Mother, the low dose was supposed to be yours,” Ben sulks.  “It would have been suspicious if you had walked away unscathed.”

 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Poe concedes after a long moment.  “And in the long run, I suppose there’s been no real damage done, correct?  The estate is yours, and your mother is hopefully at least distracted for long enough that you can act?”

 

“That is the plan,” Ben agrees quietly.  “This business of running off to Gretna Greene though!”

 

“Consider this a very basic lesson in spy craft.  Rule one should always be to keep your enemies close,” Poe’s voice is heavy with derision.  “If you’d made less of a fuss about Finn, he wouldn’t have run off with your sister.  But cover is cover, and it distracts Skywalker nicely.”

 

“You sure I shouldn’t…”

 

“I can handle the old man,” Poe’s sneer hurts, but Luke stays quiet, listening. 

 

“You shouldn’t underestimate Uncle Luke.”

 

“If his head wasn’t fogged with grief and an errant ward, I might worry,” Poe’s dismissal is cool and crisp.  “Now, unless you have anything else for me, just get me that meeting I asked for, and keep your head down.  I’m not in the mood for cleaning up any further messes your carelessness might make.  Go back out through the garden and keep an eye on your mother.”

 

The door to the garden opens and closes, and there’s silence on the other side of the wall for a long moment.  Luke’s about to walk away when Poe sighs softly.  “I’m sorry,” he says, and Luke freezes.  “I’m sure that hurt to hear.”

 

He slowly steps up to the open door, and Poe tilts his head toward him, managing to acknowledge Luke even with his back facing him.  He doesn’t get up from where he’s leaned against Leia’s desk, looking strangely like a puppet with cut strings in his too stiff uniform.  Luke frowns as he closes the door behind him, a little puzzled.  “You knew I was there?”

 

Poe nods toward the fireplace, and Luke sees his own face in the large mirror on the mantle, the surface tilted so the reflection peeks into the hall when the door is open.  “I know you didn’t mean it,” Luke starts, pausing when Poe makes an ugly noise.  “Poe?”

 

“No, of course I didn’t mean it,” Poe agrees, but he doesn’t move when Luke reaches for him.  “Probably won’t be the last time I put you in a terrible place though, and overhearing me say less than flattering things may be the least of what I put you through.”

 

Luke pushes his hand into Poe’s, finally getting the younger man to look at him.  “You deserve better than a spy,” Poe says bluntly, and Luke’s jaw drops. 

 

“What in the devil, Dameron? I thought for sure I would be the one to panic first here,” Luke complains, which knocks a bit of the darkness off Poe’s shoulders though his expression doesn’t lighten much. 

 

“I honestly had forgotten how hard a lie feels in your mouth when it’s about someone I… about someone I care about,” Poe admits, but his fingers finally move in Luke’s, returning the grasp all too briefly. 

 

“You’re acting to protect our countries, our queens,” Luke reminds him fiercely.  “The day you doubt it, resign your commission.  Leia and I will concoct some reason for you to retire with me to my estate in the country, or we’ll disappear to somewhere in the Americas.”

 

“That easy, hmm?” Poe laughs, the sadness in his eyes slipping away slowly.  “And the day it’s too much for you?  Please come to me before that day.”

 

“You’d walk away from all this, for me?” Luke asks, a little surprised.  There’s something heavy, something that threatens to choke the spark out of Poe’s eyes behind this, and Luke lets his mind play through the possibilities.  “Did he ask you to walk away?”

 

Poe’s eyes close, and he sighs.  “You are entirely too perceptive at times,” he says.  “Yes, about a week before the mission in France, Iolo asked me about leaving, about resigning our commissions and finding a quiet corner of the world to vanish into.  I refused, it was something my cousin would never allow, so why discuss it?”

 

“We’re discussing it,” Luke points out, a little amused.  “Has anything changed so drastically?”

 

“I suspect if we truly wanted to vanish, your sister has the power to make it happen,” Poe replies dryly.  “And she might do it, for you.  But Iolo was common born, and I’m… is there a term for being out of favor but not so low as to be beyond notice?”

 

“Unfortunate,” Luke quips, making Poe chuckle darkly. 

 

“And so the gods punished me for a lack of daring, it seems,” Poe adds.  “Our assignment went sideways, and he took a knife meant for me.  He managed to keep up with me for three days in spite of his wounds.”

 

“Is that when you met BB?” Luke asks.

 

Poe grimaces, something like embarrassment brushing over his face for a moment.  “I took a huge risk, waiting in the city and breaking into a cemetery to give him a secret burial after he passed.  He wasn’t entitled to burial at _una iglesia_ , for a number of reasons, but I made some stupid promises that I would make sure he was buried in the proper place, on… hmm, _santo_ …”

 

“Holy ground?” Luke supplies, suddenly understanding.

 

Poe nods, grateful. “I promised, even if it was an unmarked and shared grave, I would find a way.  The delay should have killed me, would have, but this little urchin grabs my hand and tugs me down into _las_ _catacumbas_ then guides me out of the city underground. I didn’t know why she stayed with me at the time, even got me to safety in Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise, but she later told me her mother had been denied burial on holy ground and ended in the pauper’s field.  BB said she enjoyed knowing sometimes the outcast got the last laugh.”

 

“Would you have left right away?” Luke asks, and Poe frowns.  “He asked you to leave, but instead you both took a mission in France.”

 

“We had accepted the mission already,” Poe confirms with a nod.  “I suppose that we would not have resigned before seeing it through.”

 

“Then perhaps your daring wasn’t the problem,” Luke replies.  “I’d hardly expect you to walk away immediately following the first time it comes up between us.  I somehow doubt Iolo would have expected that of you either.”

 

“I suddenly suspect you may prove the more sensible of the two of us,” Poe remarks, amused.  “I’m not used to being cast as the romantic.  I’ll have to give this some serious thought and work.”

 

“I’ll thank you to curb your romantic impulses to private displays,” Luke retorts.  “I don’t find much pleasure in the giving or receiving of grand gestures.”

 

“So I shouldn’t expect lover’s tokens and baubles?”

 

“I was terrible at them when married, I haven’t grown any since then,” Luke says sensibly.  “Would you want them?”

 

“Lord no, it was all I could do to stop myself from kissing you when you presented me with those paints,” Poe admits ruefully.  “I don’t need the temptation.”  He nudges his elbow against Luke’s arm gently.  “I’m sorry for my gloom, funerals tend to bring out the darkest parts of me, make me think of unmarked graves and disquieted souls.”

 

“I’m familiar with the sensation.  My wife is probably buried in a pauper’s grave,” Luke admits, shrugging at the surprised look Poe gives him.  “I got stubborn in the opposite direction, I guess.  Determined she wouldn’t be in the vault on the family estate.  Occasionally I feel cruel, like I should have cared more about her rest, but most days, my faith isn’t strong enough to be disturbed.  Leia took care of it, and I’ve never been curious enough to ask.  I trust that Leia did the best she could.  I think she saw it as penance for having to shoot her.”

 

“Leia shot her?” Poe asks, a hint of a smile turning up his lips.  “Your sister may be the most remarkable woman of my acquaintance.”

 

“No switching your infatuations between us now,” Luke scolds him, and Poe’s tension melts.

 

“I’m rather fond of my current attachments,” Poe teases him back.  “Speaking of your sister, we should probably rejoin her.  She seems lost.  Reverend Kenobi should be returning shortly, and I understand from Ben he’s going to stay here until the funeral, or perhaps past that, to help her if he can.”

 

“Did you find out anything about Rey and Finn?” Luke asks, and Poe nods.

 

“Miss Atsy dispatched a carriage to bring them home, to ensure both were present for the funeral a few days hence.  Hiding won’t suit our purposes, best to tear the binding off the wound quickly and even lance it if we must,” Poe says.  “The solicitor will be scheduled for the day following the funeral, which will be just enough time for the right rumors to come and go, in the time and pace that should best suit us, and leave the family ready for the onslaught of speculation that will follow the bequeathments.”

 

“I mentioned to Leia that I know a gentleman with the papers, so we can get the elopement slipped in immediately,” Luke informs Poe, who looks delighted.

 

“That’s a help, can we see him this afternoon?”

 

“I’ll send word.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Wedge Antilles’ office is a very careful sort of place, and Poe barely resists the urge to drag his boot in a manner that will leave a scuff on the too neat wood floors.  It’s not quite late enough in the day for the rooms to have grown dim, but the lamps are lit nonetheless, making everything brighter than it ought to be.  He’s not fond of these types of people.  Anyone whose polished exterior is this shiny and careful has something to hide. 

 

The man’s secretary shows them into a large office and leaves them to wait.  Luke sits on the long couch by the fireplace quite comfortably, and Poe, reading nothing but trust for their host off his companion, gives in to his own urges to prowl and explore the room.  The couch faces two overstuffed chairs, quite comfortable looking, while the desk and paper stuffed cupboards sit to the far end of the room.  The room reflects how heavily Antilles’ job relies on entertaining others, not surprising for a man in the newspaper business.  The brandy on the sideboard is Luke’s favorite and sits unopened, the bottle appearing new.  The cups are barely used, so Antilles isn’t a man who drinks regularly, but he has, in the short hours since Luke placed this meeting on the books with the man’s secretary, managed to procure this.   

 

The furniture is comfortable and worn, and Poe pegs the couch Luke sits on as having been used as a bed on more than one occasion from the worn dents in the cushions.  Over the fireplace, there are three picture frames.  The first is a wedding photograph, Antilles and a very solemn looking young bride.  The other two photos feature the couple with another young couple.  The first is rather ordinary, the gentlemen standing with their ladies, but the second has Poe running a careful evaluation of all his evidence and findings so far, a little surprised.  The initial photograph is a dear cost, but he supposes the copies are not so dear nowadays and the cost split between two gentlemen is much less, but there’s still a surprising amount of pocket money wrapped up in these trinkets. 

 

“Leia said you should bring me, hmm?” he asks, and Luke looks over at him, amused.

 

“Yes, I think you’ll like Wedge,” Luke replies.  “I’d have introduced you to him at the Bacca’s Ball, but his wife’s cousin was widowed a little over a year back, maybe almost a year and a half now that I think about it, and they’ve been quite keen to make the introduction.”

 

“This the cousin?” Poe asks, showing Luke the photo, and Luke nods.

 

“Yes, that’s her standing with his wife.  To the side, that’s her late husband standing with Wedge.”

 

“You’ve known him for a long time?” Poe asks, then nods to the school crest he spots on the wall near the desk.  “Ahh.  From university.”

 

“Are you determined to learn everything about my friend via evidence gathering?” Luke asks, and Poe smirks. 

 

“Hard to turn it off,” Poe agrees, looking over the photograph once more.  “Yes, I see why Leia sent me with you.”

 

“Care to enlighten me?” Luke asks, and Poe smirks as he settles on the couch next to Luke instead of in the chair he’d originally planned to take. 

 

“Apologies, but you remember what I said about enjoying you when you’re surprised by something you missed?” Poe quips, and Luke flushes slightly just before the office door opens to admit a slender man with a neatly trimmed dark beard and a warm smile. 

 

“Luke, I’m glad to see you, though I could wish for better circumstances,” he greets Luke as Luke stands to shake his hand.  “How are you?”

 

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Luke replies.  “Wedge, this is my good friend Commander Poe Dameron.  I suspect I’d have been quite lost without him the past few days.”

 

Antilles’s gaze cools a little as he accepts Poe’s offered hand, eyes raking in the uniform quite deliberately.  “Commander,” he greets Poe. “Of the Spanish Royal Navy, correct?”

 

“You’re well informed,” Poe remarks, even though his crisp tone earns him a bit of a side eye from Luke.  “I’ve not been in London nearly long enough to become infamous, have I?”

 

“Not at all, I simply made note of you after I didn’t have the chance to make your acquaintance at the Bacca’s Ball,” Antilles replies.  “Nor did I have a chance to introduce you to Lady Mothma, Luke.  She’s recently out of mourning.”

 

“Fascinating how so many wish to push those recently out of the blacks together,” Poe replies, and Luke scowls at him.  “It is not the Spanish way,” he adds, thickening his accent a touch, surprised when that makes something shift for the smallest moment in Luke’s eyes.  He’d thought he noticed something earlier when they spoke of Iolo and his words had been hard to find, but the appreciation had been better masked by the topic.  “But I suppose the lady – and indeed the gentleman – were good friends to you.  I noticed the lovely pictures.”

 

“Hmm,” Antilles regards him for a moment, eyes narrowing at Poe.  He gestures them toward the chairs, and Poe maintains his seat next to Luke on the couch, leaving the chairs for Antilles. 

 

He offers them brandy, and both Poe and Luke wave him off, so he sits instead.  “Luke, I suppose this is to do with Han’s death?  Anything I can do to help you, or to help Lady Solo, you know I will.”

 

“I wish it were about Han, though I suppose it is in a tangential manner,” Luke replies.  He lays the matter out carefully, and Poe keeps his eyes on Antilles’ reaction.

 

“And you’ll not be needing me to announce your godson’s disinheritance as well?” Antilles asks when Luke finishes laying out the basics of the elopement.  “You’re a far kinder man than I would be.”

 

“You’re the second person to say that today,” Luke remarks, leaning back in his seat.  “I’m starting to think Poe here may be the only one not surprised by my generosity toward my ward.”

 

Antilles is looking at Poe curiously now, a familiar mirrored knowing on his face.  “As the Commander mentioned before, I suspect the Spanish would find a number of English customs strange.”

 

“Not at all, I’ve known a number of gentlemen inclined to be supportive of other gentlemen under all manner of circumstances,” Poe replies.  “Even if perhaps kindness isn’t the most socially advantageous option available to them.  Lord Skywalker’s stance seems quite admirable to me.”

 

Antilles watches them both carefully for a long moment, and Luke looks utterly bewildered.  “Of course, I’ll be glad to slip the news item into the edition, Lord Skywalker,” Antilles says suddenly, his bearing shifting quite suddenly.  “I suspect there is more to this story?”

 

“There likely will be, and of course I’ll come to you with it as soon as it’s fit for printing,” Luke replies.  “Every bit of it that’s fit, anyway.”

 

“As usual,” Antilles chuckles, standing carefully.  “Very well, I’ll hope for a speedy conclusion to your ongoing affairs then, and hope to see you and the Commander back in my office soon.”  Poe smiles, accepting Antilles’ handshake, pleased the older man seems to have come to the right conclusion.  “And I’ll work on steering my wife away from attempting to toss you together with her cousin.”

 

Luke looks surprised, but shakes his friend’s hand. “My quiet bachelordom and I thank you,” he remarks, and Antilles smirks in reply.

 

Luke follows Poe down to the carriage quietly and tugs the shades down once they’re inside, giving Poe a bewildered look.  “What the devil was all that about?”

 

“I see why Leia insisted I go with you,” Poe replies, mischievously avoiding the question.  “Fascinating friend you have there, my lord.”

 

“My lord?” Luke asks, his eyebrows lifting as he realizes he’s being teased.  “What happened to all your praises from this morning?  I’m perceptive enough to know there was something going on in between words in that room.”

 

“Oh, you’re quite perceptive,” Poe laughs, shaking his head.  “Except for a glaringly large blind spot for romantic entanglements, it would seem.  Your friend is quite enamored of you, Luke.”

 

“Wedge?” Luke frowns, his forehead wrinkling as he considers it.  “He’s a married man.”

 

“I suspect up until a year and a half ago, your friend and his wife shared the perfect paired marriage with her so called cousin and her husband,” Poe replies.  “It is not Lady Mothma who is properly out of blacks now, but your friend Wedge.”

 

Luke sits back in his seat, looking rather stunned.  “That’s a rather remarkable arrangement,” he says finally.

 

“It’s not entirely uncommon,” Poe explains.  “If the participants of the affair between two women can find suitable and likewise engaged gentlemen, then society will never look past the appearance of a happy foursome, seeing exactly what it expects to see from them.  Usually they’ll feign some familial connection between either the gentlemen or the ladies, and then even long periods of cohabitation draw no suspicion from the ton.”

 

Luke stays quiet for a long time, and Poe takes a moment to appreciate just how much Luke is learning about the world in a short span, in the midst of some fairly turbulent grief.  He raps the side of the carriage, leans his head out when they slow, and redirects the driver to Skywalker House.  “We really should return to Leia,” Luke objects weakly.

 

“Reverend Kenobi has arrangements there well in hand, and we can send your staff over to help where the help is really needed,” Poe points out.  “You look exhausted, and I’m dead on my feet.”

 

That seems to catch Luke’s attention, the other man turning an assessing gaze on Poe.  “Your breathing?” he asks, and Poe demonstrates a quick, noisy deep breath for him.

 

“I’m well, just in need of a bit more sleep than usual, for all that I got more than usual yesterday,” Poe replies.  “But if you want to be useful, I suppose you certainly could help me exhaust myself before retiring.”

 

Luke blushes prettily, but his gaze stays fairly direct.  “Is that something you would want?  A convenient marriage like that?”

 

“Lord no,” Poe replies quickly.  “I’m still too attached to the notion of a marriage meaning something and that something decidedly not being for me.  But I can see why the cover it provides is appealing.”

 

“Hmm,” Luke remarks, looking thoughtful.  “I don’t think that’s it.  Or at least not the only reason.  Leia wanted you to tag along, but I certainly could have turned Wedge down on my own if he’d propositioned me.”

 

Poe feels his eyes flash over to Luke’s quicker than he’d like, and sure enough, a slow smile is starting on Luke’s face.  “You’re not the jealous type, are you, Commander?”

 

“The goal of the Antilles and Mothma consort was definitely to proposition you and marry you into their relationship this season,” Poe replies rather than answer.  “Can’t say I blame the man for considering you, you are gorgeous.”

 

“This is fantastic,” Luke chuckles, eyes alight with mirth.  “Here you sit, completely assured of being in my bed and knowing you’re the only one to be there, and the thwarted attentions of another man are enough to get you prickly.”

 

The carriage comes to a halt, and Poe disembarks quickly, feeling the weight of Luke’s repressed laughter follow him inside.  “Artie, round up the staff and head over to Lady’s Solo’s house for the evening,” Luke tells his valet when they enter the house.  “The commander and I can get along quite well on our own tonight, and I’m sure Miss Atsy and Mr. Nunb could use extra hands, down by three staff members and funeral preparations being what they are.”

 

“Very good,” Artie agrees, nodding to Poe.  “Commander, your young apprentice has agreed to clear out her hiding spots this evening after making her rounds one last time and move her belongings into her room here come tomorrow morning.  I believe Lord Skywalker’s arguments regarding schooling were as effective as your concerns that she’d be safer coming in from the streets.”

 

“Good, though I am quite put out by the way his lordship has won her over from me,” Poe informs Artie, though he angles the words at Luke as well.  “But if she’s finally willing to come off the streets, I’ll take the victory.”

 

“I’d say the promise of schooling won far more than anything I might have done,” Luke contradicts him.  “She’ll be in the third room on the second floor, Artie?”

 

“Miss Oola drew it up for her today,” Artie confirms, then hesitates. “Sir.  It might be presumptive…”

 

“Spit it out, Artie,” Luke growls, and the valet draws himself upright.

 

“I also had Miss Oola open the lady’s bedroom on the second floor and set it for Miss Rey, and we took the liberty of unlocking the adjoining door to the main bedroom, to Mr. Finn’s room, and adding the key to his copies, sir,” Artie details, and Poe does a poor job of hiding his smirk.

 

“It seems I’m not the only one who is well aware that you will not be disowning your ward,” he informs Luke.  He leaves while Artie goes through business with Luke, nipping down to the kitchen to see what Mrs. Tekka has prepared.

 

“It’ll be easy enough to reheat, even for a pair of helpless bachelors like you two,” she shows him, and he makes note of her instructions for the beautiful little meat pies.  “I figured Lord Skywalker might send us to help, he’s a strangely thoughtful master and an even better brother,” she says, giving Poe a sly smile.  “I was born in Norway, you know,” she adds all too casually.

 

“I didn’t know that,” Poe replies, suddenly curious.  She has a point to make, and he’s very interested in hearing it.  “How did you end up here?”

 

“The thing about Lord Skywalker’s house,” Mrs. Tekka remarks.  “Is that you don’t end up here unless you have some need to be here.  Once upon a time, Artie was framed for murder, you know.  No one would take him in, even after his name was cleared, but Lord Skywalker did.  Miss Oola… well, you’ve seen what her husband did to her face before she was taken in here.  And Mr. Threep’s former master liked to blame him for his own wandering fingers.  But do you know what those three have in common that I don’t?”

 

Poe shakes his head, trying not to feel amused and hiding his smile.  “They were innocent of what brought them here,” she informs him with a sliver of a smile.  “Am I understood, Commander?”

 

“Mrs. Tekka, I tremble in awe,” he remarks, taking her hand and brushing it with a genteel kiss, making her cackle. 

 

“I’ll be glad when the London season ends,” she says as he helps her carefully pack supplies into a box for the carriage.  “You’ll like the estate, Commander.  We’re not so on top of each other, and the servant’s cottages are separate from the main house.  There’s less of the late Lady Skywalker’s spirit lingering there as well.  She never quite belonged.  But I suspect it will suit you well.”

 

“There are many people who wouldn’t be so loyal to him,” Poe remarks, and Mrs. Tekka’s thin smile widens. 

 

“We all have good reasons,” she says softly.  “In time, Commander, I suspect that loyalty will transfer to you as well.” 

 

“I hope to prove worthy of your faith,” Poe replies, bidding her goodnight before he heads back up to the main floor.  Luke has already gone up, so he bids goodnight to Miss Oola and Mr. Threep as they head down to depart with Mrs. Tekka and accepts the front door key from Artie after he locks up.

 

Luke’s door is closed when he reaches the third floor, but the adjoining door stands open once he enters his room.  He discards his coat and cravat on his own bed before walking to the door, pausing in the frame and watching Luke as he lights the fire.  Luke’s down to just his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, loose above his breeches, eyes turning almost grey in the reflected firelight. 

 

“It’s beginning to rain,” Luke observes, nodding to the fireplace.  “I doubt we need the warmth, but it does help with the damp.”

 

“I’ll take the warmth as well, if it means you’ll let me spread you out naked beside it,” Poe replies with a wicked grin.

 

“I was hoping to discuss more about this jealousy of yours,” Luke shoots back, looking just as mischievous.  “Were you truly concerned I’d throw you over for an old friend?”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Poe replies, feeling a little foolish.  “But he could offer you something much simpler and easier than what a life with me will bring.”

 

“If I wanted simple and easy, I suspect I’d have caught on to his intentions much sooner,” Luke replies dryly. 

 

“Because you figured out my feelings when again?” Poe teases him.  “Before or after I kissed you?”

 

“I was pretty well in the loop mid-way through the kiss,” Luke retorts.  “And in case I’m not making myself clear enough, I don’t want Wedge.  I don’t want simple.  I want you, Poe.”

 

Poe closes the distance between them, claiming Luke’s mouth in a rough, needy kiss.  “I’m yours,” he whispers to Luke, who shivers and tugs him back down for another kiss.

 

“And I’m all yours, only yours,” Luke promises in reply.  “So what will you do with me, Poe?  You claimed you had a plan for me last night.”

 

“Undress for me, I’ll be right back,” Poe replies, stepping back.  He hesitates as Luke starts unbuttoning his shirt, staying and watching a tempting idea, then hurries back to his own washstand for the items he needs.  By the time he returns, Luke’s made short work of the last of his clothing, looking a little uncomfortable as he stands nude in the golden firelight.

 

“Your turn?” Luke asks hopefully, and Poe laughs, nodding.

 

“Not necessary, but I can indulge you,” he agrees, setting the items in his hands on the bedside table.  Luke curiously picks up the small phial of oil and examines it while Poe unfastens his breeches. It's a basic thing, the sort ladies would add scents to for their skin, easily obtained in the market.

 

“I assume you’ll explain all this,” Luke remarks, flushing as he turns back to find Poe nude as well.  “You are amazingly well crafted,” he says, staring, and Poe feels a blush spread across his body.  “I’m suddenly quite grateful for the way your uniform does little to compliment your body.”

 

“Oh Luke, tell me you aren’t also the jealous type,” Poe teases him even as he pulls Luke to him for a soft kiss.

 

“I suspect I may prove to be,” Luke says quite solemnly.  “You wield far too much charm with young ladies.”

 

“Now you’re the one being quite ridiculous as you know I have no interest in young ladies,” Poe reminds him.  “Come on.”  He guides Luke over to the bed, gently pushing him onto his back.  “I promise to be quite gentle,” he says softly, seeing the worried look on Luke’s face.  “And short of you begging me to, I won’t fuck you tonight.  We’re just exploring a little.”

 

“And you think I might beg?” Luke asks, faintly amused. 

 

“I’ve seen in happen,” Poe replies, grinning.  “Here, draw your knees up like this, hold them here.  This would easier on your stomach, but I want to be sure I can see your face, to make sure I don’t cause you any discomfort.”

 

Luke looks somehow both tense and touched by this, and he flushes as he holds his legs open for Poe, undoubtedly feeling rather exposed.  Poe grabs his wet washcloth and makes careful work of cleaning Luke, taking his time and starting out along Luke’s thighs, trying to carefully soothe the other man before working his way in to wash his nether regions.  Despite his apprehension, Luke’s cock is filling slowly, and once he’s satisfied, Poe leans down and laves his tongue over Luke’s cock, encouraging it to harden. 

 

“Revising from last night?” Luke quips, though it’s half groaned. 

 

“Expanding upon last night’s lesson,” Poe corrects him, then slides his mouth lower, mouthing at the soft skin between the testicles before gently sucking on them as well.  Luke’s head tilts back, eyes hooded, and Poe uses the moment to dip even lower, running his tongue just over the pucker, light and teasing.

 

“You can’t…” Luke trails off, cock hard and leaking.  “Poe.”

 

Poe grins then starts working his tongue gently past the ring of muscle, tasting and teasing with just the tip of his tongue and enjoying the bitten off curses that suddenly pour from Luke’s mouth.  Luke opens surprisingly well to his tongue as Poe pushes further, darting in and out with a few quick thrusts of his tongue, enjoying the strangled noises escaping his lover.  It doesn’t take long for Luke to start trembling, barely holding himself still, and Poe backs off, reaching for the oil. 

 

“Shh, hang on, just a little more,” Poe soothes him, coating his index finger liberally.  Luke doesn’t seem to comprehend until Poe pushes the tip of it inside him, and he moans, wiggling a little and pushing so Poe’s finger slips into the second knuckle. 

 

“Oh,” Luke murmurs, shifting a little.  It’s a curious and not displeased sound, so Poe very slowly finishes slipping his finger in.  Once he feels Luke’s body relax around it, he turns his finger, searching a little until he brushes against a spot that makes Luke cry out in surprise.

 

“What the devil,” Luke pants, and Poe grins as he circles his finger, brushing over it again and making Luke’s whole body jolt.  “Oh, I think I see the appeal of this,” Luke gasps, wiggling against Poe eagerly.  “Give me more, please, Poe.”

 

Poe slicks his second finger, and adding it is a much slower process.  He can see that the stretch burns a little, testing Luke’s resolve, so he leans back in, lapping up the fluids that have gathered at the head of Luke’s cock.  The pleasure does the trick, relaxing Luke so the second finger suddenly slides in next to the first, and Poe carefully stills his hand, giving Luke a moment to adjust while he focuses instead on Luke’s cock.

 

“All right, move,” Luke demands suddenly, and Poe chuckles as he complies, drawing his fingers out the sliding them back in, making sure to keep the angle on the spot that makes Luke’s eyes roll back in his head.  He repeats this a few times, then slides out and scissors his fingers a little, loosening Luke further.  He doesn’t wait for Luke to ask before slicking his third finger and tucking it in as well, pulling a hard groan from Luke.

 

He barely has time to thrust with three fingers before Luke comes, spilling suddenly across his chest.  Luke whines a little when Poe removes his fingers, eyes opening and clearly not approving.  Poe chuckles, carefully capping the phial of oil and returning it the bedside table in exchange for his cloth to clean his fingers and Luke’s stomach.  He climbs out of bed, pouring himself a quick glass from the cart so he can rinse his mouth, and unsurprisingly, Luke tugs him down for a kiss once he rejoins him in bed.

 

“Next time, you’re going to fuck me,” Luke remarks hazily.  “I am quite certain I’ll enjoy that very much.”

 

Poe laughs softly, utterly adoring the sudden confidence.  “Anything you ask for, I will be glad to give,” he replies.  “And here I thought I was trying to collect your soul before the season’s end.  It seems you’ve entirely won over mine instead.”

 

“Fair trade,” Luke insists, trailing his hand down to find Poe’s arousal, rather more lazy and slow to awaken.  “Can I try using my mouth on you?”

 

“I’d rather thought to wait,” Poe replies softly, drawing Luke in for another kiss.  “Given a bit of time and kisses, I think you’ll be up for another round.  Next time needn’t be far off.”

 

“Oh,” Luke looks surprised, then presses a hard kiss to Poe’s lips.  Poe can afford to be generous this way, especially since it’s a generosity Luke has sorely lacked.  He lets Luke take the lead this time, the older man’s body covering his as thunder starts outside, a proper storm setting in.

 

* * *

 

Luke wants to feel something for how quickly his kisses turn desperate and how quickly he hardens once more against Poe, but the younger man seems so delighted and eager that he can’t summon enough concern to make it into actual embarrassment.  “Will you please fuck me properly this time?” he asks, eager for the utterly blinding pleasure Poe’s fingers had brought before.

 

“I wonder,” Poe murmurs back, catching Luke’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging gently.  “If I can’t make you beg for it.”

 

“Poe,” Luke whines softly, knowing he’ll end up desperate and keening for it even before Poe rolls them over and works a single finger inside where Luke is still open and slick.  “Ungh, you know I will, do you have to tease me?”

 

“Yes,” Poe’s eyes wrinkle around his smile.  “Because you enjoy it so much.”

 

Poe reaches over for the oil again, then helps Luke roll onto his knees and elbows, stroking his hands up his spine.  “Just this time, so it’s easier for you to take me,” Poe reassures him, even as he slides two fingers back inside. 

 

Poe is less interested in the spot that sets off his nerves in a flurry of energy this time, brushing against it only occasionally as he stretches Luke open, making him groan and try to push into the touch.  When he adds a third finger, Luke sobs.  “Poe, please,” he demands, and Poe adjusts his fingers, giving Luke just a taste of the pressure he wants.  “Please,” he manages again, then begins babbling helplessly.  “Please fuck me, claim me, make me yours, please.”

 

Poe withdraws his fingers.  The empty feeling is so much worse this time while he’s still hard and aching for it, and a wordless complaint slips from his throat.  “Shh, I’ve got you,” Poe reassures him, and then there’s a pressure, pushing him open, as Poe slides just the head of his cock in.  It's so much, thick and pushing him open more than he expected, but so good.  The air punches out of Luke, surprised and adjusting for a moment, and Poe stays still, bringing his arms up around Luke’s ribs and holding him carefully. 

 

Once he relaxes into the embrace, his whole body seems to heat and melt, and Poe slides in a little further.  “More,” he urges Poe, and ever so slowly, the other man pushes himself into Luke.  He feels Poe sigh once he’s fully seated, arms tightening around Luke, chest pressed against Luke’s spine, and he feels utterly surrounded and claimed.  His breath catches oddly, eyes burning oddly with a feeling like tears might fall when he blinks. 

 

“Good?” Poe confirms, pressing a gentle kiss against Luke’s neck.

 

He nods, gasping as Poe pulls back so just the tip of his cock remains in Luke then pushes forward again, this time sliding against that spot inside Luke and making him dizzy with sensation.  “Poe, god, love, please, please more,” he begs, voice choked.  Poe makes a surprised little noise, but obliges him, repeating the motion with a little more force this time.

 

He shifts to meet Poe’s thrusts, losing himself into the matched thrust and grind, his own erection slick against his stomach as Poe fucks him.  He pushes up on his hands a little, turning so he can see Poe, who leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth.  “Shh, I’ve got you, you’re all right,” Poe promises, and Luke realizes he has started crying.

 

He can’t parse out if he’s happy or sad or angry or all of them at once, but he knows that this man and this connection between them is all that holds him together in this moment.  He wants Han back, he wants the older man to tease him about how he grins because of his lover.  He wants his nephew not to have betrayed them and cast a shadow back into his life when he should be nothing but happy.  He wants the wedding he always envisioned for his godson, and he wants Poe with him for everything to come, global politics be damned.

 

He can’t have any of it, but he thinks this could be enough.

 

He comes, crying out at the blinding sweep of pleasure that overwhelms all his emotions and leaves him shaking in Poe’s embrace, grateful the other man is holding him tightly.  He lets Poe carefully tip their bodies sideways, but reaches back and holds on, keeping  Poe’s cock still inside him, even though his body sparks in near painful over-stimulation.  “Keep going,” he whimpers, needing this sore and overfilled brightness.  “Please, Poe, need to feel you still.”

 

Poe kisses his face softly, lips catching tears as he moves all too gently.  “Are you in pain?” Poe asks worriedly, and Luke shakes his head.

 

“Good, feels so good, like the only thing holding me together is you, like I can let the world burn if I just keep hold of you,” Luke knows he’s rambling, but he can’t find enough words to explain this feeling to Poe.  “Please, my love, please.”

 

“I love you, Luke,” Poe murmurs softly, shattering Luke’s heart and pushing it back together in some new and suddenly functioning way he didn’t know it lacked.  “Love you so deeply.”  He thrusts into Luke quicker now, his own control fraying it seems, and Luke rides out the blinding waves of sensation, body quaking until Poe finally stills, spilling his own seed deep within Luke.

 

He’s cold, shivering everywhere Poe’s skin isn’t pressed into his, and Poe thankfully has the sense to pull the bedding up over their bodies and curl his own body around Luke, holding on too tightly.  Poe strokes his fingers down Luke’s breastbone gently, just holding him while Luke lets his grief and joy break him, knowing it’s allowed because Poe will hold him together.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a blink and miss it reference to pregnancy via rape and Victorian abortion methods mentioned in this chapter. If you wish to avoid it, skip Jess and Kare's conversation with Poe in the church.

Worry gnaws at Poe, nagging at him that he hasn’t seen any sign of Leia taking a moment to grieve yet. Instead, she moves through the motions in a fog, her manner odd and distant, so come the morning of Han’s funeral, after giving her the week to break through it on her own, he seeks out Reverend Kenobi. 

 

“I would never break a confidence,” Kenobi starts when Poe asks, and Poe snorts.

 

“I’m not asking what you’ve seen, Reverend.  I’m asking if you’ve seen something,” Poe retorts.  “Luke’s meeting the carriage with Finn and Rey, and there’s no telling how Ben Solo will behave once they arrive here, nor how Finn will react if Ben Solo goes off.  I’ve got my hands full, as the younger generation of this family will undoubtedly explode at some point today, so I’m asking you if I need to have an eye on Leia as well.”

 

Kenobi regards him, looking solemn for a long moment, then he sighs, nodding.  “I’ve seen nothing to indicate she’s processing her grief yet,” he replies.  “She is, as I have often seen her in times of adversity, a stalwart and unbending woman.”

 

Poe nods his thanks, turning to go, when Kenobi calls him back.  “Commander.  Other than Lord Solo, there is only one person who has ever been able to break those walls and bring her to herself again, and I think you have busied his hands with the wrong people.”

 

Poe nods, cursing his own stupidity.  “I think, once Luke has met with Finn and Rey, I can shift his focus to her,” he agrees.  “Though I may need someone else to have eyes on Ben Solo.”

 

“You are, after all, just one man,” Kenobi remarks dryly, seeming a bit amused.  Poe’s still not entirely certain if the older man likes him or simply tolerates his presence because Luke insists on Poe staying.  “Very well, Commander, I will drop a word in Lord Bacca’s ear, though you’re a fool if you think he and Lord Calrissian are not well aware of the boiling tensions.”

 

“Awareness and permission to step in are two separate entities, Reverend.  I’d appreciate you extending the later to Lord Bacca.”

 

Poe steps out of the study, resisting the urge to slink into the shadows of the hall and hide for a small bit of solitude.  He’s weary, and he’s already put off the Russians once this week.  His excuses, citing too many eyes on him thanks to the looming funeral, won’t hold weight past today, and it feels like a tightening noose, where action must be taken soon, but he wants Leia at his back before he moves forward.

 

He steps outside, surprised when his familiar signal whistle comes from the branches of a tree at the edge of the Solo property.  “BB?” he calls up softly.  “Shouldn’t you be dressing for this afternoon?”

 

Her clothes are cleaner than he’s seen in a while, even for street breeches, and her cheeks are rounding out again with a healthy flush, though she’s got a long way to go before she packs on nearly enough weight for his satisfaction.  But living under Luke’s roof for the past few days is already doing her a world of good.

 

“Got sommat for you,” she says, unusually solemn.  “Two sommats really, but only one good.  Gonna take a bit of time though.  Spare an hour?”

 

He considers, then nods.  To his surprise, she drops out of the tree and heads for the wilder part of the estate, beyond the gardens.  “Had a birdie find me this morning,” she tells him as they walk deeper into the trees that separate the property from the park.  “Helped me backtrack, found sommat we was missing.”

 

Poe smells what she’s uncovered before it comes into sight, tugging his cravat up and over his nose to block some of the sickly sweet aroma of decay.  BB likewise wraps a scarf he’s pretty sure she pilfered from Miss Oola around her face and leads him into the reeds.  “The footman,” Poe guesses, the stark black uniform far more recognizable than the bloody and rotted mess of what’s left of his face.

 

BB nods sadly.  “Miss Atsy told him he wasn’t needed for dessert and brandy, since it was just you and their lord and ladyships.  Him was outside, prone to sneaking a fag with the new stable hand, they was mates, I guess, leastwise that’s how the stable hand, Bastian, tells it.”

 

“You found Bastian?” Poe asks, wondering why he’s surprised.  She’s remarkable.  “They ran, BB.  That’s never good.”

 

“Not when you know why they ran,” she insists, hands on hips in stubbornness.  “Are you coming?”

 

“Lead on,” he tells her, resolving to send the constabulary for the poor footman after the funeral, once he’s sure it won’t cause any harm or tip his hand.

 

BB leads him to a remarkably ill kept establishment in a poor section of London, where medicines and care can be purchased for coppers, but the care could just as likely kill you.  The name on the sign reads Dr. Plutt, but Poe will eat his hat if the wobbly jowled man in a fluid and blood stained white coat is any sort of real physician.

 

It takes four coppers to get the lunk of a sawbones to admit them to the establishment, and an additional copper to get him to leave them alone with Bastian.  Bastian, barely fifteen at Poe’s best guess, looks terrified when he sees Poe with BB. 

 

“You said you wasn’t gonna tell none of thems as could hang me for this,” he hisses at her, fingers looking talon like as they fight clenching into fists, dark skin going pale around the knuckles with how terrified the boy is.  He's no killer. 

 

“Poe ain’t gonna hang you, he’s gonna help,” BB growls back at the boy.  “He’s a good’un, all right?”

 

“Look, just tell me what you saw, what made you run, and I can help,” Poe offers.

 

The boy considers him, then nods slowly.  The boys hands relax, but he's still on alert, wary and expecting trouble.  Poe wonders how much the boy has struggled with hyper-vigilance the past week.  “Me an’ me mate, he snuck me out for a fag.  We was out there for a bit smokin’ before som’un comes out from the servant’s exit, right near where we was at.  Not full dark yet, so’s we can see it’s Mr. Ben Solo.  I’s about to call out a greeting, then I sees his hands, all red with blood.  I kept quiet, but Tommy near yells out at the sight, an’ Mr. Solo sees us.  We’s as good as dead, so we start running.  I wasn’t as fast, an’ Mr. Solo knocks me down right quick as soon as we hit the trees.  I was out cold.  Din’t come to till deep in the dark of night.  Figure Mr. Solo musta thought he kilt me with the blow, an’ din’t come back to check.  I start crawling, find Tommy cold on the ground, and figure the young lord probably pinned it on me or will if I go back.  So I come here, an’ Plutt stitched my head back together.”

 

Poe examines where the boy points at the back of his head, finding the stitches crude, but surprisingly clean.  “I was fixin’ to run today, but then BB finds me, tells me to wait, an’ I should tell you what I seen.”

 

“You did good, BB’s going to get you to a place you can lie low,” Poe pulls one of his spy marks out, tossing it over to BB.  “You know the safe house I want him in?”

 

“Yeah, they can probably put him to work in the stables,” she agrees, tucking the mark away.  “I’ll get him there and get home in time to change, swear.”

 

“Good girl,” he says fondly, tugging on one of her curls before he stands.  He’s got to go back and put the other kid into a shallow grave for now.  He needs Ben Solo unaware of the surviving witness for a couple more days at least, and that means his murders have to stay undiscovered for now. 

 

* * *

 

Luke wishes Poe had agreed to stay, unaccountably nervous about seeing his ward for the first time in his life, but it’s far too late to try one last time to convince the commander to remain for this meeting.  He can hear the carriage wheels rattling against the cobblestones in the drive, and he draws himself up, tugging on his waistcoat as though that will straighten some invisible wrinkle.  “Oh my,” Mr. Threep mutters nervously.  “Do you plan to yell much then, sir?”

 

“I may need to do some yelling, I’m afraid,” Luke replies grimly.  “Perhaps you should go downstairs and make sure Miss Oola doesn’t require any assistance with the last of the arrangements for this afternoon.”  He knows Mr. Threep hates to be around a temper, and given the choice, if there’s to be a quarrel, he’ll stick close to Miss Oola.  She does much better around loud noises these days, but there haven’t been quarrels under this roof likely to reach the volume this one may reach since before Mara passed.

 

“Very good, sir,” Mr. Threep says around his gulp, before very quickly vanishing from the room.  Luke catches Artie’s eye as his valet goes to open the door for Finn and Rey instead.

 

His first thought is that funeral blacks really do ill-suit his niece, who should be radiant and glowing as a new bride.  Instead they make Rey pale and show her weariness, and his temper cools considerably.  He opens his arms and gathers her in, trying not to feel surprised when she dissolves into tears on his shoulder.

 

“I’m so sorry, Uncle Luke,” she sobs miserably, and Luke pulls her in tighter.  Maybe Poe had the right idea after all, he decides, stroking a shaky hand over her hair. 

 

“It’s all right, Rey.  I’m sure your mother will have a number of choice words for you, but you’re all right.  Here,” he pulls out his handkerchief and wipes her face clear, chuckling slightly when he spots the cheap tin ring she and Finn must have picked up in Gretna.  “Now that won’t do,” he remarks, taking her left hand and examining it.  “Miss Oola has the lady’s room on the second floor ready for you.  I understand she and Miss Atsy brought a full wardrobe and additional black gowns over for you.  My mother’s wedding band is on the bedside table.  I suspect it will fit your fingers and will look much more fitting for a daughter who obeyed her father’s wishes.”

 

“Poe told you,” Rey mumbles, unable to hide her relief.  “Finn said he would.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Luke agrees, kissing her forehead as he sees Finn step inside.  “Go on up, get changed and cleaned up.  We’ve got about half an hour before we need to go to the church.”

 

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Rey whispers to him, hugging him once more.  “You know how hard it is to say no to me.”

 

“I’d suggest he learns,” Luke replies dryly, shooing his niece away.  She manages a watery grin, then squeezes Finn’s hand briefly before vanishing upstairs.

 

“I really am sorry,” Finn starts, and Luke holds up a hand, cutting him off.

 

“I understand what you did, and even why you did it, but when I say you owe Poe a great debt of friendship for deflating my anger, I cannot even begin to detail how great a debt we’re talking about.  There’s not another gentleman of my acquaintance who hasn’t taken the opportunity over the last few days to express how generous I am for not disinheriting you except for Poe.”

 

Luke pauses, making sure Finn looks properly cowed.  “That said, he made your motives clear, and I suppose I owe you a thanks on behalf of my sister, as she does not yet fully know what has transpired.”  Luke can see relief starting to lighten Finn’s expression, but he’s not done yet.  “What I cannot understand is how you could leave without consulting me or at least giving me word!  You could not imagine Poe would conceal your motives from me.”

 

“It was irrational, but it seemed prudent at the time, like a secret that needed to stay small and close or we would lose the advantage,” Finn confesses, looking far too cowed to provoke Luke’s temper now.  “It wasn’t until we were well underway that I realized Poe wouldn’t keep this a secret from you, especially if you became set on disinheritance.  Ben could have come after you instead.”

 

“What’s so important for him, the lord’s seat?  The peerage?  The land?” Luke asks, and Finn shrugs helplessly. 

 

“I can’t determine it, nor can Rey,” he admits.  “We were hoping to consult with the commander and if possible, with Lady Solo, as soon as possible.”

 

“She’s not been brought into this confidence yet,” Luke replies.  “She’s not processing Han’s death, and until she does, I can’t tell her Ben is the traitor.  We need him alive. You may not have been old enough to remember Mara’s death well, but Leia, Han, and I all acted too rashly.  I’m deferring to Poe on this, slow and steady, so we can net as many conspirators alive as possible.”

 

Finn nods his understanding, blowing out a noisy breath of air.  “If it’s just the peerage or a lord under their thumb, there have to be easier targets than Ben Solo.”

 

“Perhaps,” Luke agrees, slowly, looking over at his ward.  “I never envisioned an elopement from you.  Reverend Kenobi will likely insist you have a proper ceremony in the church this autumn.”

 

“Rey and I will be glad to oblige him,” Finn agrees, even though such a thing will bring the scandal home to the country estate too. 

 

“I don’t want to be the type of guardian who becomes superfluous to his ward’s life with the changes marriage brings,” Luke admits, and Finn’s shoulders slump.

 

“Luke, you’re my father, in everything but blood,” Finn says, voice shaky.  “I don’t want either of our marriages to change anything.”

 

“Either? Our?” Luke feels his eyebrows lift, surprised.

 

“You wouldn’t have begun with Poe if you didn’t intend to continue on in a committed fashion,” Finn says, all too knowingly.  God help him, that certainty makes Luke more tempted to box Finn’s ears like he hasn’t done since the man was a child than any of the rest of the conversation has so far.  “It seems our family has undergone some rapid expansion.”

 

“About that,” Luke remarks, bracing himself as hurricane BB races in through the door.

 

“Hi, Luke, I’m going to change for the funeral now, bye!  Oh!  Hi Finn, welcome back, is Rey upstairs, never mind, I’ll find out,” BB plows right on through, then clomps noisily up the stairs in her ratty street clothes. 

 

Finn turns and looks at Luke, who shrugs.  “We’re giving it a trial run, and if she agrees, by the end of the season, I’ll make it official with the family solicitors,” Luke replies.  “She’s apparently got her cap set on medical school.”

 

“You are a soft touch,” Finn remarks.

 

“I hope you’ve no intentions for the estate in Lancaster and Tattooine House,” Luke replies idly.  “I’m thinking they’ll be a good dowry for her.”

 

“Between Rey and I, frankly I’m getting more acreage and property than any man can use in a lifetime,” Finn replies heavily.  “I was planning to propose to Rey before the end of the season, Uncle Luke.”

 

“I know,” Luke says, finally settling a hand on Finn’s shoulder, comforting him.  “Give some serious thought to thanking the commander.  He’s a terribly perceptive man.”

 

“Speak of the devil,” Finn observes, nodding to Poe as he steps into the house cautiously, clearly assessing the other two men before joining them.

 

“Welcome home, and congratulations,” Poe greets Finn, accepting the other man’s enthusiastic hug. 

 

“It seems I owe you a drink or two, maybe a small plot of land, my first born, something like that,” Finn remarks, and Poe scoffs.

 

“Nonsense, you owe me nothing,” Poe dismisses him.  “I’d do no less for a friend half as good as you have been to me.”  Finn claps his shoulder, then heads up the staircase.

 

“You look a fright,” Luke remarks, and Poe rubs at the dirt smudging his face.

 

“Busy morning,” he admits.  “And I’ve not the time to catch you up and get dressed, I’m afraid.”

 

“Talk while you get cleaned up,” Luke suggests, following him up the stairs.  “Or I’ll be left to wonder if you’ve been burying bodies this morning.”

 

Poe starts, looking a little guilty as he regards Luke.  Luke groans, shoving Poe’s door open and waiting for Poe to close the door behind them.  “I was jesting,” Luke complains.  “What happened?”

 

“BB found the missing servants from Solo House,” Poe replies.  “The footman is dead, and I’ve tucked the lad from the stables away for safe keeping.  It seems they had a bad habit of nipping out to smoke together, round the entrance to the servants’ quarters.”

 

“They saw whomever killed the cook’s assistant.  They saw Ben,” Luke concludes as Poe takes a moment to splash his face and scrub the dirt off.  He rakes his wet fingers through his curls, shaking loose any dirt that might be clinging there.  “Hold still,” Luke remarks, carefully raking his own fingers through Poe’s curls much more gently, easing out a small bit of debris.

 

“Careful, we don’t have time for you to start anything,” Poe remarks, but it falls short of the teasing tone he aims for, and Luke eases a gentle hand over Poe’s cheek.

 

“You look tired,” Luke observes.  “What can I do to help?”

 

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Poe admits, and the way he lets his head list into Luke’s hand speaks volumes.  “I’ll need to meet with the Russians soon, and I’m hoping to have enough to unmask a conspiracy, but I fear all I have is enough evidence to make a noose for Ben Solo several times over.”

 

“You need Leia,” Luke remarks, and Poe nods.

 

“I’m afraid the grace period for allowing her to find her own way through this grief is coming to an end,” Poe agrees.  “Can you help her?” 

 

“I can try, but I’m not sure if she’ll be inclined to let you hang her son or beg us to save him,” Luke admits, sliding his hand back up to comb gently through Poe’s curls again. 

 

“Reverend Kenobi has asked Lord Bacca to help me keep an eye on your idiot children today,” Poe steels himself, clearly gathering himself up and tucking his weariness away again.  It’s a lot like watching Poe put on his uniform, and Luke hates it.  “If you can work on getting your sister out of her shell, we’ll prevent any violence today as best we can.”

 

“Take your pistol,” Luke advises him dryly.

 

* * *

 

It’s with a small sigh of relief that Poe tucks himself into a pew at the back of the church, all potential problems averted for the moment.  He catches Luke’s eye, unsurprised to find his lover tucked in next to his sister in the pew at the front of the church, well away from where it is socially acceptable for Poe to be in this moment.  BB is beside him, so Poe takes comfort in that.  Ben sits on the other side of his mother, glowering in anger more than sorrow, but fortunately Rey and Finn are on the opposite side of the church, putting a good amount of distance between them. 

 

The casket is sealed tight, sprays of gentle flowers over the lid, and Poe settles back for a dizzying sermon he only catches a few words of, too determined to make sure every face present belongs in this church.  Across the aisle from him, Nien Nunb and Miss Atsy look a little too conspicuous with their long overcoats still on in the muggy church, but unlike him, carrying a pistol or sword openly would be forbidden.

 

It hasn’t escaped Poe’s notice that both Ben and Finn are wearing swords on their belts.  To be fair, he certainly wouldn’t have stopped Finn from carrying his, given the circumstances, but he does wish that someone at Solo House had been able to prevail upon Ben to leave his blade at home.  Unless he misses his guess, there’s a small gun of some sort in Rey’s handbag.  Both Lord Bacca and Lord Calrissian have pistols on their hips. 

 

Unusually tense for a funeral.

 

Both Mr. Hux and Lady Netal are in the church, but as friends of Ben’s, Poe can’t discount them as not belonging.  If either were armed, Poe would be more concerned, especially since something in Netal’s too dry eyes and not quite sad expression prickles over him uncomfortably.  It’s not until he sees the look of pure poison she directs Finn’s way during a moment that should be devoted to quiet prayer that Poe becomes really concerned about her presence.  Unless he’s far off the mark, she’s no patsy or lady playing at danger, she’s a viper, certain to be quite at ease in a den of snakes.

 

Luke had refused to carry a blade or gun, to Poe’s dismay, so Poe brought both.  He’s more than a little worried about his lover, who unlike his twin, has gone through so many extreme emotional swings in the past week.  Poe has no doubt that the other man is head over heels and overjoyed about it, but the joy is touched by sorrow every time Luke seems to remember he has lost his best friend and the man he would normally confide in.  He hasn’t broken down again though, so Poe is leaving it alone for now, hoping helping Leia will help Luke find solid ground again.

 

His breath catches with a sharp stab beneath his ribs, and Poe struggles to regain control of his easy breathing.  He hasn’t told Luke yet, but he suspects the poison has done some sort of long term damage to his lungs.  He wants to have Finn check them before he condemns it as a permanent sort of damage, but the occasional spasm is worrisome. 

 

The air stays tense and heavy through the solemn service, and more than once Poe sees Nunb shuffle in place uneasily when Ben Solo shifts his gaze away from the front of the church.  He may be an incredibly loyal valet, but Nunb is hopeless at subterfuge, Poe muses to himself, noting that Miss Atsy seems to be suffering from the same irritation about it as he does. 

 

He wants to slip out to the cemetery ahead of the casket, but the Calrissian daughters move to intercept him quickly after the service.  “We need a word,” Jessika says lowly, and Karé looks surprisingly solemn.

 

Poe looks around, finding Lord Bacca sliding out the side door of the church toward the cemetery, so he nods to the ladies, gesturing them into a small minister’s office Kenobi had taken care to point out to him that morning.  The candle smoke hangs less oppressively in here, and the ache in Poe’s lungs eases a little.  “The poison,” Karé begins, then pauses, looking to Jessika.

 

“We may have overheard Reverend Kenobi discussing the plants used with my father,” Jess says, and Karé clears her throat.  “Fine, I was eavesdropping.”  Her face flushes, but Poe smiles, a little surprised.  For all of Karé’s bravado, he suspects Jess may be the more sly and cunning of the two sisters.  She just needs Karé to prod her into action.  With some training, they’d make a terrifyingly effective duo.

 

“I’ll assume it was all in the cause of the greater good and will ignore how the information may have been obtained,” Poe replies reassuringly.  “Go on, Jess.”

 

“I know the plants Finn was talking about, where to find them in a garden in town, along with aconite, belladonna, and half a dozen others,” Jess explains.  “One of the herbs is pennyroyal.”  Poe doesn’t follow, and she flushes even darker red.  “Ladies in town know if you’re in some way compromised…” she bites her lip, and Karé takes over.

 

“We know a lady, and a gentleman interfered with her,” she says bluntly.  “Concealment was essential, for a number of reasons.  We learned through our experiences with her that Lady Netal is the woman to see if you need a special type of herbal preparation, such as poison, be it for drugging your abusive husband into a stupor or pennyroyal oil for taking care of the… complications of the situation we just described.”

 

The use of pennyroyal she's referring to suddenly clicks into place for Poe, and he nods his understanding.  Lady Netal’s esteem among the ladies of London in spite of her vicious reputation suddenly is making more sense.  She may be vicious, but she balances the field for her gender where it needs balancing.  “And both the herb and the fungus that Finn determined were used in combination to poison Lord Solo?” he asks, and Jess nods.

 

“I saw them both in her garden,” she confirms.

 

“Well, at least I know where he got them from,” Poe sighs, ignoring the puzzled looks the ladies give him as the sudden sounds of shouting from outside the church echo through the room.  He bolts from the office, the now empty main church providing a quick route to the side door into the cemetery.

 

Finn is bleeding from what appears to be a superficial wound to his shoulder as he swings his sword at his cousin, who has a nasty gash along his jaw.  “--had to run off because you knew I’d never give my blessing for a low born cur like you to marry my sister!” he catches Ben shouting, even as he lunges forward in a sloppy pass of swordplay that makes Poe wince.

 

He glances around, clocking Luke still too far away, even hurrying from where he’s left Leia out by the open grave.  Mr. Hux has forestalled Lord Bacca, and whatever Chewie is roaring at the man doesn’t translate through the volume or thick accent for Poe.  If Lando is in the crowd, Poe can’t find him.

 

“Stop it,” Rey shouts at her brother, and Poe is shocked to see that her own lip is bloody from whatever started this fight.  One of her hands is digging into her bag.

 

Before he can think too hard about it, he hops down the last few stairs, elbowing a few gentlemen and ladies out of the way, pulls out his pistol and fires into the air, utterly silencing the gathered crowd and halting both Ben and Finn in their tracks.  “Enough, both of you,” he shouts, tearing the sword from Ben’s hand.  “There’s a time and place for dueling if you must, but this is neither!  Rey, get him out of here,” he jerks his chin at Finn dismissively, then rounds on Ben, shoving the sword into the ground and pushing the young man until they leave the crowd behind, hidden behind the tall wall of a stately mausoleum.

 

“Did I not make myself clear enough about keeping a low profile?” Poe hisses at the young man, and he shoves him into the crumbling stone wall roughly.   “You’ll get your chance, but not if you act like a rash idiot at your own father’s funeral!”

 

Ben stares at him, dark eyes glittering maliciously.  “You come dangerously close to overstepping, Commander,” he snarls.  “For all you know, Lord Snoke encouraged this.”

 

“I haven’t met Lord Snoke yet, but by all accounts, he’s not prone to brash and showy displays of temper,” Poe snaps back, and to his surprise, someone chuckles behind him.  He turns, nodding his head to Lady Netal.

 

“He’s right, this little stunt reeks of your temper, Lord Solo,” she observes, voice surprisingly deep and throaty for a lady.  “In fact, you’re quite lucky he stopped you.  Lord Snoke is unamused by the whole matter.”

 

Poe feels himself freeze, uncertain how he missed that Snoke is somewhere in the funeral crowd, but he keeps his expression even.  He’d been too cocky, certain he knew the identity of everyone at the funeral, but it never occurred to him that Snoke might not be a real name.  But the way Lady Netal wraps her lips strangely around the name suddenly makes him fairly certain Snoke is just smoke and mirrors, an alias for someone close to them.  

 

Netal has turned her hooded eyes over to Poe, nodding her head to him.  “Terribly improper for us to meet this way, _príncipe_ ,” she greets him slyly.  “But I felt someone should convey our thanks that you at least kept your head and managed that well.”

 

“Thank you, Lady…?” he trails off, carefully turning his thoughts over to Luke so his gaze will turn improperly appreciative, and she smiles all too prettily, obviously enjoying the perceived attention.

 

“Netal,” she replies.  “Bazine Netal.  I’ll send an invitation to dine with my family, Commander.  I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you.”

 

Poe watches her go, then releases his hold on Ben Solo.  “Head down,” he advises Ben.  “Or I’ll not stop them from draping your father’s murder around your neck and using it to hang you.”

 

“They wouldn’t do that,” Ben objects, but the bravado doesn’t ring out through his voice the way it did before.

 

“Keep pushing them,” Poe replies nastily.  “Let’s see what happens.”

 

He storms away, pausing long enough to take Ben’s sword out of the dirt where he’d planted it. He shoves the sword at Lando, who has finally come sniffing around curiously, since the man doesn’t already have one on his hip.  “Where the hell were you?” Poe asks in a whisper. 

 

“Your daughter got cornered by someone a little too curious,” Lando remarks, shoving the sword through the leather of his belt to secure it, leaving smudges of Finn’s blood on his belt and breeches as he does.  “Lord Netal.”

 

“Lady Bazine Netal’s father?” Poe asks, frowning, pulling the stooped and elderly gentleman’s image to the front of his mind.  “And BB isn’t my daughter.”

 

“No, but there’s a fast running rumor making its way through society that she’s Luke’s illegitimate daughter,” Lando retorts, sounding amused.  “And these days it seems what’s his is yours, eh, Commander?”

 

Poe freezes, turning a cold stare on Lando.  “Relax, Leia didn’t mean to tell me, but she’s not quite herself right now,” Lando points out softly.  “I don’t disapprove, but you’d do well to keep my wife and likely my daughters ignorant.  She’s given them too much religious schooling, and I’m not sure they’d accept this.  And I needed to make sure you knew just how badly off Leia is.”

 

“Message received,” Poe replies, confirming they are out of earshot of the grave.  “You might be surprised by your daughters though.  I suspect the younger two at least have been acting outside society on a number of matters from the intel they’ve given me.  What did Netal want with BB?”

 

“He just wanted the introduction, Poe,” Lando replies.  He’s got one eye on his daughters, apparently seeing them anew.  “He’s sniffing around the rumors that she’s Luke’s daughter, albeit more overtly and with less concern for propriety than anyone else.”

 

Poe frowns, thinking it over.  BB’s sudden presence does seem to be in need of an explanation for the town gossips, and her being Luke’s illegitimate daughter would be the easy rumor.  But Poe wonders if perhaps Lord Netal’s concern is that BB might be his.  An heir to the conspiracy’s would be prince, a potential wrinkle in their plans.  It chills him. 

 

He meets Luke’s worried gaze over the lowering casket a moment later, and he forces himself to smile.  Luke’s worry doesn’t fade.

 

* * *

 

Luke isn’t sure where Poe slinks off to in rough and common clothing after the funeral, but he supposes he’s grateful that it lets him pull his sister home with him without feeling as though his attention is divided.  BB goes with Rey and Finn to the library, while Luke pulls the door closed on his study and overfills the tumbler he sets in front of his sister.

 

“I need a drink, but I doubt it’s this serious,” Leia remarks, even as she sips the whiskey.

 

“Han wouldn’t forgive us if we didn’t empty a bottle in his memory,” Luke replies.  “Lando and Chewie will be along shortly I’m sure,” he lies, knowing the others have no intention of taking part in dragging Leia out of her stupor.

 

“Sure,” she agrees, frowning into her drink.  “Dameron won’t be joining us?”

 

“Not tonight,” Luke replies, settling down next to her and placing the bottle within easy reach.  “He liked your husband, but tonight is for those of us who remember a certain General attempting to scale the orchard wall to propose a second time and being chased off by Anakin and that enormous Scottish sword he was so fond of.”

 

That actually draws chuckles, fond and bright, from Leia before she swallows a hard pull of the whiskey.  “Our father hated him so much,” she recalls softly.  “Hard to see it as anything other than him detesting Han’s patriotism now, but at the time, Han was such a scoundrel…”

 

“Not a penny to his name and just that terrible plot of land with the Falcon House on it back then,” Luke recalls, chuckling.  “I certainly never would have expected him to come away from war with an elevation to Marquis, a handful of homes, and a small fortune.”

 

“Don’t forget that weird little estate at Devon and Kessel House,” Leia replies with a laugh.  “It was his favorite even though we were never there.  If you’d disowned Finn, I was going to insist Ben give Kessel House to them.”

 

“I scarcely believe he would listen to you,” Luke replies darkly.  “After that farce today.”

 

Leia drains her glass, pushing it toward Luke so he obligingly refills it.  “Han would have wanted me to say that having a new young lover suits you,” she remarks, and there’s a little edge to her voice, pushing at him in order to keep him away from the topic of the fight and her son.

 

“I’d have to agree,” Luke makes his reply all too pleasant, if for no other reason that it will likely annoy her. 

 

“I’m glad I proved out right on that match at least,” Leia continues, eyes glittering a little as she narrows them at Luke.

 

“Poe mentioned that you’d been in his corner,” Luke sips at his drink and switches tactics.  “It makes me so crazy, not being able to give Han grief about finally following his advice to move on.  I keep thinking I’ll swing by, drag him out for a walk, and eat all my words about ending alone, because I can live with that if it means he’s there to laugh at me.”

 

Leia glowers into the fireplace, eyes suspiciously bright.  “I think he’d have approved,” Luke says, letting his own soft doubt slide out, and Leia blinks rapidly.

 

“He would, he did,” she admits.  “That evening, he started laughing when Lando stepped out.  Told me he was glad you were putting down the widow’s mantle in time for…” she chokes on the words, then forces them out.  “In time for me to pick it up.”

 

“Do you remember, about a month after Mara died, he got it in his head that he needed to drag me out to Bath?” Luke asks.  Leia’s eyes are fixed on her drink, turning it slowly and watching the firelight shine through it.  “You wanted no part of his scheme—”

 

“It wasn’t the lamb,” Leia says suddenly, standing up and looking repulsed by the drink in her hand, and Luke plunges forward, because this is not the realization he wanted to spark.

 

“You threatened to punch him in the mouth if he—“

 

“Ben poured the drinks.  Three in hand, before we even walked in...”

 

“And he said go right ahead and try, you’re too short to reach my mouth for a proper punch anyway—“

 

Leia hurls the glass into the fireplace, the glass and liquor exploding on the fire with a spectacular crash.  “You and Dameron already figured it out,” she snarls, whirling on Luke.  “My son…he killed…” the words choke, and Leia crumples to her knees.  “Killed!” she cries, and Luke slides down to the floor, tugging her into a hug as she starts crying.  “Han’s dead and my son’s a monster,” she whimpers, clinging to Luke.  Her sobs shudder through him, and he just holds on, hoping he can pull her back together once she’s done falling apart.

 

* * *

 

Poe creeps into the house late, feeling a little cross with himself.  He’d confirmed Jess’s theory about the herbs coming from the Netals’ garden, and the herbs and mushrooms in question showed signs of recent harvesting, but so did half a dozen other plants.  Proving the poison Ben used came from Netals wouldn’t be easy, especially since he’d used the opportunity of a quiet and dark Solo House to search Ben’s rooms and come up empty handed.  If there was any poison left, it’s long gone now.

 

Artie greets him at the door, giving a disapproving glare in the general direction of Poe’s grubby clothing.  “An invitation arrived for you while you were out this evening,” he informs Poe, the disapproval somehow deepening as he speaks.  “An invitation to dine with the Netals.”

 

“Artie!  Did you read my mail?” Poe asks, pretending to be scandalized, and the valet sniffs.

 

“As if I’d learn anything around here if I didn’t,” the other man replies.

 

“Fair enough,” Poe agrees, tilting his head.  “I could have let myself in, you know.  You didn’t have to wait up.”

 

“It may have escaped your notice, but I’m a slight man, Commander, not prone to heavy lifting,” Artie says, imperiously brushing down his bushy mustache.  “I felt compelled to inform you that the situation in the study demands your attention, not mine.”

 

“Strangest household in the world,” Poe observes, giving Artie a side eye.  “Only the valet when there’s a formal event, only the head of the house to clean up the messes when they can’t be passed along…”

 

“I believe in working smarter, not harder, Commander,” Artie informs him.  “And with that, I’ll bid you goodnight, sir.”

 

Poe shuffles off to the study, smiling to himself when he finds the twins curled together on the couch, Luke holding his sister protectively.  Leia’s face is tear-stained, and her body looks like it has collapsed under the weight of exhaustion.  For the life of him, Poe can’t figure out how this is an improvement, but he knows it is. 

 

“Shh, I’m just moving her to bed,” he soothes Luke when prying loose his grip on Leia makes the other man stir sleepily. 

 

“All outta beds,” Luke slurs, and that’s when Poe notices a handful of empty canters and bottles on the floor.  The twins have polished off a terribly impressive amount of liquor in addition to whatever emotional drunkenness is occurring here. 

 

“It’s all right, I’ll put her in mine,” Poe says.  Luke beams, looking pleased.

 

“Because you’ll be in mine.”

 

Poe had planned on actually making up the couch in the library while Luke slept this off, but he nods, apparently unable to say no to that bright smile, even when it’s brought on by liquor.  “I’ll make up the couch in the library for cover then join you,” he agrees.

 

“Smart,” Luke says, trying to place a finger along the side of his nose and ending up nearly poking himself in the eye.  Poe snorts, barely able to suppress laughter.

 

“Stay put, I’ll be back for you,” he informs Luke, who gives him the sketchiest imitation of a salute he’s ever seen.  Everything about the gesture speaks to an imitation of Han and his sarcasm, which likely confirms that Luke and Leia have been drowning their sorrows in memories as well as booze.

 

Leia is surprisingly light in his arms as he carries her upstairs and tucks her into his bed.  He forgets that for all her enormous presence, Lady Solo is in fact a tiny woman.  He jumps, half startled, when Miss Oola melts out of the shadows, hair unpinned and hiding most of her face.

 

“I’ll get her out of the corset,” Miss Oola says softly.  He nods gratefully, trying not to show how surprised he is.  He’s spoken to the flitting presence of Luke’s maid when she appears around him, but she’s never actually spoken to him.  Her voice is as soft and lovely as he thinks she must have once been.

 

He heads back downstairs, finding Luke has managed to get his feet onto the floor but not quite made it upright, or if he had, it was a short lived attempt.  “All right, my lord, up you stand,” Poe coaxes Luke.

 

“Y’only call me m’lord when you’re teasin’ me,” Luke grumbles, tucking his head into Poe’s shoulder as Poe braces him up. 

 

“Well, you’re sort of adorable when you’re drunk, it seems,” Poe observes.  It’s slow going up the stairs, and he’s about ready to give up when the third floor landing finally appears.  Miss Oola appears out of Poe’s room, closing the door behind her and clucking in amusement when Luke waves sleepily at her. 

 

“I’ll make up the couch in the library for you,” Miss Oola says, and Poe starts to open his mouth, but she just tilts those bright green eyes up at him, her amusement as clear though she’s laughing outright at him.  “I’ll mess up the sheets too, so you needn’t come back down.”

 

“Worst kept secret in the whole damn world,” he says quietly to Luke, and Miss Oola laughs softly, looking delighted as she takes Luke’s other arm and helps him push Luke onto the bed.

 

“Artie came to offer us a letter of recommendation and prime new placement if we couldn’t adapt,” she says, sighing as she moves back to the doorway.  “Lord Skywalker deserves more than solitude.”

 

She closes the door before Poe can thank her, and he shakes his head as he goes to work on Luke’s clothing.  “Hmm, like where this is going,” Luke murmurs, and Poe laughs softly.

 

“This is heading for sleep, because you’re far too drunk for anything else,” he assures Luke.  It takes some work to wrestle Luke into a sleep shirt, then Poe quickly changes into his own.  He douses the lanterns before crawling into bed beside Luke, trying and failing to feel at all surprised when his lover wraps him up like a kraken with a new pirate ship. 

 

“Wanna know a secret?” Luke asks him, voice little more than a whisper in the darkness.  “Han asked Leia to marry him four times before she said yes.”

 

“Oh really?” Poe smiles in the dark, amused in spite of himself. 

 

“The first three times, they’d’a had to go to Gretna, just like Finn.  Hey, Finn’s married now.”

 

“Go to sleep, Luke,” Poe says fondly.

 

“Fourth time Anakin was dead,” Luke continues.  “So dear ol’ Dad couldn’t say no.  I said hell yes, marry her already.  But he hated Han.  Funny, huh?”

 

“Very funny,” Poe agrees.  He’d gotten the impression after the Bacca’s Ball that drink made Luke talkative, but fortunately the words are slurring and heavy with sleep, and Poe is fairly sure Luke will exhaust himself soon.

 

“He’d’a hated you like he hated Han.  Patriot, good man… yeah, tha’s you two,” Luke says and tucks his head against Poe’s shoulder.  “S’why I know it’s all right.  Bein’ n’love with you.”

 

Poe’s heart clenches, tripping wildly.  Luke’s been stumbling around the words more and more, and he knows Luke means them.  He can hardly wait to actually hear them someday.

****


	9. Chapter 9

There’s a small man in clogs dancing the tarantella inside Luke’s head, and Poe’s sympathy doesn’t seem to extend any further than dumping Luke in a chair with a mild breakfast in front of him.  Leia looks just as wrecked, and Poe seems to have the same lack of sympathy for her as he sets her in a chair in the dining room and puts an equally plain breakfast in front of her, Luke notes with some satisfaction. 

 

Finn and Rey are a little more cautiously sympathetic, but that seems to only extend so far, as both have helped themselves to heartier breakfasts.  Nothing tops BB though, still prone to piling her plate high, and more than once, she gets a little too close to Leia with the sausages, making the older woman blanch ominously at the smell.  Poe chuckles, even as he eases a gentle hand over Luke’s head before sitting down next to him with his own breakfast plate.  It must be true love; Poe’s piled his own plate with only fruit and bread too.

 

“Get some food in your systems, we’ve got a long morning ahead,” Poe remarks dryly.  “I’m convening this war council meeting.”

 

“Ooh, barely married a week and I’m sitting at the table where it happens,” Rey says, sounding a little too satisfied.

 

BB gnashes on a sausage.  “I didn’t have to get married,” she observes slyly.  Rey’s jaw drops, and Finn chuckles, wincing when Rey’s elbow finds his ribs. 

 

“By now,” Leia says roughly.  “I am sure you have more than enough evidence against my son, Commander.”

 

“More than,” he agrees.  “But I’m not interested in just stringing up the patsy.  I want the whole conspiracy, from Lord Snoke down.”

 

“Who is this Lord Snoke?” Luke asks wearily, sipping at his tea, relieved when his stomach doesn’t rebel against it.  “I’ve been hearing the name, but have never made his acquaintance.”

 

“I’d assumed he was foreign,” Leia admits, looking to Poe.  “You don’t think so?”

 

“I’m fairly sure it’s an assumed name, a false identity of sorts,” Poe replies.  “Lady Netal let it slip yesterday that Lord Snoke was at the funeral.”

 

That startles Luke from his stupor.  “I knew everyone at that funeral,” he says slowly.  “Are you saying someone else of our acquaintance is working for Russia?”

 

“If you’re confirming that you also thought you knew everyone present, then yes,” Poe agrees, and Luke’s head aches far too much for this discussion.  “Also, speaking of Lady Netal, I’m fairly certain she’s the one who provided the poison.”

 

“I’ve heard talk,” Rey starts, and Poe makes a strange noise at that.  “That she was the type of woman you could see about any number of poisons.”

 

“If your source was the youngest of the Calrissian ladies, then we share the same intel,” Poe tells her.  “Jess confirmed the plants Finn identified are both in her garden.”

 

“The Netals are heavily involved in Afghanistan and India, so their interests expanding to Russia could be a big problem for England,” Leia relays.  “I’d hoped to dig into it further, see if I could find any evidence that they were looking to profit from a war between England and Russia for control of Afghanistan.  I suspect this conspiracy has as much to do with expanding business empires as it does politics.”

 

“How does this tie into the offer of rebellion and a political marriage for Poe?” Finn asks, and Poe steeples his fingers, thinking.

 

“Maybe Spain is just the most convenient place to dump Lady Phasma,” Poe says after some thought.  “No other country in Europe has nearly so much unrest or a disenfranchised royal they can easily take advantage of.”

 

“Perhaps Spain is just a red herring,” Finn remarks, but Leia shakes her head.

 

“Not so simple as that,” she replies.  “Nicholas and Alexander, the conservative but defense minded older brother and heir, versus the younger, progressive and expansionist younger brother.  I’ve been too busy considering the social advantage of Alexander and his progressive views that I hadn’t given nearly enough weight to the global militaristic impact.  He’s much more likely to invade Afghanistan in a bid for control of India.”

 

“If they assassinate Nicholas, the conservatives of the country might turn instead to other potential heirs, like Phasma,” Poe says slowly.  “What do we know about her politics?  Is she more of a stumbling block they need removed than we thought?”

 

“From what we know of her, she’s a conservative, but not opposed to expansion.  The problem may be that if both brothers are removed, they need to control the prince-consort,” Leia remarks, and Poe snorts, amused.

 

“If they can control me in revolution and put me on the throne, I suppose I would then seem like a ready and waiting puppet.  And a husband sets the tone, even if Phasma is the heir.  I’m insurance,” Poe says, sounding gleeful.  Luke gives him a sideways glare, and Poe shrugs.  “It’s a step up from what I was thinking, which was that they needed a patsy.”

 

“I’m fairly sure they have one,” Finn says heavily.  “Ben Solo makes a great fall man, with a salacious family history that can be exposed if the plot comes to light.”  The group falls silent for a long moment.

 

“So how do we root this out, tear it out fully?” Luke asks at last, looking worriedly at Poe.

 

“I’ve been invited to dinner with the Netals,” Poe admits, looking to Leia.  “Letting them draw me further in may be our only way through now.”

 

Luke bites his tongue to keep from objecting, and Leia nods slowly.  “Why shouldn’t we turn Ben over to the queen’s torturers?” she asks finally.  “I suspect we could have Snoke’s identity within hours.”

 

“The conspiracy will scatter if we move on him and the small fish,” Poe says bluntly.  “We need to dismantle this completely, and we have to make sure we cut off the head.”

 

“Both our countries on the line,” Leia, nods, drawing herself up and Luke sees her assume her mantle as spymaster and head of the League once more.  “All right, Poe.  We’ll go forward with your plan.”

 

Luke’s stomach wobbles, and he sets down the piece of toast he’s been working on.  “I think I should take a walk,” he says, waving off Poe when he starts to move as well.  “I’m not young enough anymore to drink as did last night.  Excuse me.”

 

Surprisingly, it’s BB who comes to find him in the garden a short time later.  “He’s gonna worry now,” she scolds him.  “Our job is to make sure he’s never distracted by us.”

 

“I’ll go see him,” Luke replies, sighing.  “Does it get easier?”

 

“Nope,” BB replies with a little too much cheerfulness.  “Why do you think I’m retiring?”

 

“Retiring, huh?” Luke remarks, a little amused.  “You’re twelve.”

 

“Old enough to stop before spy work kills me,” BB scowls at him.  “Look, old man, I’m not gonna marry some toff or be a proper lady, ever.  But I want school, and I think you mean it when you say you’ll let me have it.”

 

“I’m fine with that, and I do mean it,” Luke replies.  “A lot of people will say you’re my illegitimate daughter, you know.”

 

BB considers him for a long moment.  “No clue who my da was, but I could do worse,” she decides.  “Go make nice to Poe before you have to go do the thing with the will.”

 

Luke smiles, resisting the urge to tousle her curls before he heads back inside.  The sun and fresh air actually have done wonders to settle his system, and stepping into the cool and dim house helps further.  He finds Poe in the study with Finn, who has Poe’s shirt raked up so he can listen to Poe’s breathing.  “Still having trouble?” he asks, and he can clock Poe’s surprise.  “I share a bed with you often enough to hear you wheeze,” Luke scowls, and Poe grins unrepentantly.

 

“Perceptive upon occasion,” he quips.  “Finn’s just telling me how bad it is.”

 

“Finn’s declaring you both a hazard to his sanity,” Finn replies, straightening up and tugging his monaural stethoscope from his ear.  Luke make a note to get him one of the new ones with buds for both ears.  “Your lungs sound clear, which is actually more worrisome, Poe.  If it were life threatening, I suspect it would have killed you by now.  That means your lungs have been weakened, at the least.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Poe says, straightening his shirt.  “Odds that they’ll heal?”

 

“Slim,” Finn replies.  “They may function quite normally for the rest of your life, but I suspect with the way you currently push yourself, that isn’t likely.”

 

“And here I thought I was about to have my first retirement discussion with him, not you,” Poe jokes, shrugging back into his waistcoat.  Luke doesn’t laugh, and Poe’s smile flattens.  “Finn, can you give us the room, please?”

 

Finn claps Luke’s shoulder as he leaves, and Luke appreciates the gesture.  He waits for the door to close, then says quietly, “BB just announced her retirement.”

 

“She’s always had more sense than me,” Poe agrees.  Luke steps closer, pushing Poe’s hands away and doing up his waistcoat himself.  “So is this our first discussion about me retiring too?”

 

“Let’s say you pull this off, join the League, then you go back to Spain.  What then?” Luke asks, genuinely curious.  “Command of a ship?”

 

“Put down the rebellion, then beg for a posting here,” Poe replies, shrugging.  “I could make a case for an ambassadorship, if I succeed fully.”

 

“All right, let’s call that plan A,” Luke agrees, managing a smile.  “But I want a plan B.”

 

“To run away?” Poe guesses, and Luke nods slowly.  “To vanish into the American frontier?”

 

“Canada would be all right too,” Luke concedes, making Poe laugh.  “Cold, by all accounts, but we could manage.  I hear Toronto is lovely.  And it’s still part of the British Empire, so there’s that.”

 

“I’ll talk to Leia,” Poe agrees, and Luke can’t hide being startled.  “You really thought I’d say no?”

 

“I thought I’d have to convince you, at least a little,” Luke replies, reaching up and straightening Poe’s cravat. 

 

“I’m not a fool, I know my time as an active spy is coming to a close,” Poe says. He lowers his forehead so it rests against Luke’s and just stays quiet in Luke’s embrace for a moment. 

 

“Can I impose upon you and ask you to come to this will reading?” Luke asks, and Poe laughs.

 

“No need to impose, Leia already asked,” Poe replies.  “I’m not sure my presence will deter violence, especially if Han made the changes I predicted.”

 

“I’m not sure anyone’s presence will deter violence,” Luke agrees.  “I’m just hoping to avoid any further fatalities.”

 

“I am glad BB is retiring. I always wanted to do more for her but never could,” Poe remarks, leaning in and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Luke’s lips.  “Thank you for taking care of her too.” 

 

Luke leans back in, chasing the kiss and Poe obliges him, holding him loosely and trading slow kisses for a few minutes.  “Oh, I wish we had time to continue this,” Poe murmurs, trailing his finger down Luke’s face softly.  “I’d really like you to fuck me.”

 

“I think I’ll decline,” Luke says, laughing at the look on Poe’s face.  “Under Plan A, we aren’t considering ourselves married until you return from saving Spain from rebellion, so I’ll wait.”

 

“Wait?” Poe says faintly, looking rather put out.  “Wait until we’re considering ourselves married?”

 

“Yes,” Luke replies cheerfully.  “I need to make sure you have incentive enough to return.  So… incentive.”

 

“You play dirty,” Poe hisses, but he tugs Luke in for an absolutely filthy kiss, so Luke suspects he actually approves. 

 

* * *

 

For all the drama inherent in the days leading up to the revelation of Han’s will, Poe finds the entire group to be surprisingly somber and quiet as they assemble.  Han’s solicitor, a bald man with dark skin and an enormous curled mustache that trembles awkwardly when he moves or speaks named Mr. Ackbar, arrives at the Solo House at precisely half past two and settles in at the desk in the library.

 

Finn and Rey keep to the outside edge of the room, and Ben stays in the opposite corner, while Luke, Leia, Lando and Lord Bacca hold the center of the room.  Poe, for his part, is holding up the door frame, determined to stay as unnoticed as possible unless he’s needed.

 

The first half of the will reading is uneventful, with Ackbar carefully reading out the small bequeathments, gifts for Lando, Chewie, and Luke, though the mention of a particularly willful thoroughbred named Millennium to be gifted to Lord Bacca draws a few chuckles.

 

“No one else would dare ride her,” Leia remarks dryly.

 

“Indeed,” Ackbar sniffs, looking a little dismayed as he considers the next part.  “The next concerns the management of Miss… apologies, Lady Skywalker’s dowry, and the estates, titles, lands, and fortune of Lord Solo.”

 

Rey inclines her head at the acknowledgment, and Ben shifts uncomfortably, seeming to sense something is off.  “The will dictates that the whole, save Kessel House and a dowry of 5,000 a year should be relinquished to Lord Solo’s male heir, Benjamin Solo, except in the event that his daughter – that meaning Lady Rey Skywalker nee Solo – should precede her brother in marriage.”

 

“What?” Ben demands, and the solicitor ignores his outburst, continuing in a calm and even tone. 

 

“Should Lord Solo’s daughter marry first, the whole of the estates, titles, lands, and fortune shall be given to her husband.  Marquis Skywalker, the will further states that should such a time come as the younger Mr. Solo should prove innocent of all circumstances related to his father’s death, an allowance and living have been carved out in the will for him.”

 

Poe doesn’t have to feign his surprise, as he would never have guessed that Han would lay his murder at Ben’s feet in his will.  Leia has grabbed hold of Lando’s arm, looking aghast as she looks between Ben and Finn and Rey.  Ben grabs for the paperwork, but Luke is faster, taking the documents and scanning them himself.

 

“The living promised you is Kessel House and an allowance of 5,000 a year, the same as would have been Rey’s dowry,” Luke reads quietly, shaking his head.  “Dammit, Han.”

 

“I didn’t kill my father, your whelp of a godson poisoned his mind against me somehow!” Ben shouts.  “He would never leave everything to a no account, low born bastard!”

 

“You’ve lost!” Finn shouts back.  “You killed him and still he got the better of you.”

 

Ben moves quickly, too quickly for Luke to stop him this time, and backhands Finn hard across the face.  He tugs off one of his gloves and drops it, challenge issued.  “This won’t change anything I’ve just proscribed, Marquis Skywalker will--” Ackbar puts in, looking worriedly between them, and Ben sneers at him.

 

“Stop calling him that! The title will be mine when I remove this common blooded upstart from the inheritance,” Ben snarls.  “No wonder you both rushed off to Gretna, greedy grasping little wretches!  I’ll see your disgrace puts you in your proper place in the gutter after I dispatch Finn!”

 

“Better I am disgraced than see everything my father built fall into the hands of his murderer,” Rey growls back at him.  Finn scoops up the glove and tosses it back in Ben’s face, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

 

“Go fetch your sword,” Finn orders Ben, voice surprisingly commanding.  Poe is quite proud of him.  “If you can find anyone to stand as your second, I’d be surprised, but I’ll meet you in an hour in the garden.”

 

Smart, Poe thinks, as Ben scurries from the room.  As the challenged, Finn named the time, place, and weapon, which so far keep the duel in the realm of the survivable.  The time constraints mean Ben doesn’t have time to bring his conspirators into the affair properly.

 

“If you kill him, they’ll try you for murder,” Rey hisses at Finn, slapping his arm soundly.  “What the hell were you thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking it’s this or he kills me,” Finn retorts.

 

“My apologies, Marquis Skywalker.  It seems my client has trapped you in a terrible place, but he felt no one would be more suited to protect his family,” Ackbar tells Finn, who nods his understanding.

 

“Sir, I suspect as an officer of the court, you should excuse yourself from the property before you lose all deniability,” Poe advises the solicitor, who nods once, promptly packs his case, and with a quick nod to Leia, he departs.  He turns to Lord Bacca next.  “You know a doctor or medic who can keep their mouth shut?” he asks, and the towering man nods, lumbering out the door to go fetch someone.

 

“Poe,” Finn calls out to him, and Poe moves to join Luke and Finn.  “He’ll go to his friend Hux.  He’s part of the conspiracy?”

 

“Yes, BB places him with Phasma, discussing the poisoning,” Poe confirms.

 

“If you’re my second, can you convince him to set the terms as first blood?” Finn asks, and Poe’s mind races.

 

“Hard to do.  It’d be so much neater for them to let you clean up their mess,” Poe says.  “I can’t see that he has any usefulness left to the conspiracy.”  He chews on his lower lip, thinking, and then finally says, “I can try to say we need him alive, that a murder trial will bring too much attention.  Maybe suggest that there are better ways to remove you that also clear Ben’s name.”

 

“Do you really think Hux is fond enough of Ben for that to work?” Luke asks, and Poe shrugs, rather than admit Luke’s probably right about his chances.  “What if you make it about you?”

 

Poe frowns but motions for Luke to continue.  “Say you need the assist, say Leia is suspicious.  Say you need the favor you’ll gain by saving her son.  Then say you’ll take care of whichever of the two or both men if they want, but you’ll do it in a manner that deflects attention instead of drawing it.”

 

“You are utterly brilliant, and I would kiss you if we weren’t in mixed company,” Poe whispers, just for the joy of watching Luke turn bright red.  “All right, Finn, consider me your second.”

 

Finn chuckles, clasping hands with Poe, who realizes he only has his pistol with him.  “But I’ll need a sword,” Poe remarks, and Luke nods toward the door. 

 

“You can borrow one of Han’s, I’ll show you where,” Luke says, placing subtle guiding fingers onto the back of Poe’s elbow.  Poe follows, feeling a little bemused, and sure enough, when he closes the door to Han’s study behind him, Luke presses him into the door and kisses him thoroughly.  “Thank you,” Luke breathes against Poe’s lips, and Poe presses a quick answering kiss back.

 

“Thanks and bribes not needed but always accepted,” he jokes with an ease he doesn’t feel.  “Help me find a sword.”

 

The hour flies past, and Poe finds himself pacing in the garden when Hux and Ben arrive.  Luke has Leia and Rey inside, after Lando set down his foot and insisted they limit the number of witnesses who can say what exactly happened in case something goes wrong.  Finn could probably beat a murder charge, given Ben’s crimes, but there’s no sense chancing it.  Chewie brings an ancient looking nurse rather than a doctor, a woman with enormous spectacles who stands only about half his height.  She looks utterly put out by the whole affair, but she has a medical bag and a no-nonsense explanation about serving as a field medic, which is more than good enough for Poe.

 

Finn is calm, quite methodically cleaning his sword and focused, whereas Ben vibrates and moves jerkily, his control fraying.  “Just keep your head,” Poe advises Finn, clapping his shoulder before moving to the center of the clearing to meet with Hux.  Hux wears two pistols in addition to his sword.  Poe isn’t sure if he’s just expecting trouble or looking to cause it.

 

“Dameron,” Hux greets him, looking surprised.  “How’d you get roped into this?”

 

“After the show at the funeral… well, I think Lady Solo was hoping I could help diffuse some of this again, keep it from being a fight to the death,” Poe replies.  He’s about to launch into Luke’s words about currying favor, but Hux is already nodding.

 

“We can’t have this drawing attention,” Hux agrees all too easily.  “First blood?”

 

“Will Lord Solo agree to it?” Poe asks, unable to help his skepticism.  “I’d thought him too far gone in anger for that.”

 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Hux replies, and there’s something sharp and deadly in those grey eyes. 

 

“Good, then, to first blood,” Poe agrees, shaking Hux’s hand.  He returns to Finn, crouching down next to his friend.  “That was too easy,” he confesses to Finn.  “Watch yourself, they intend to pull some trick.”

 

“Any guesses?” Finn asks, and Poe considers the gentlemen for a long moment before he spots something.  The sword on Ben’s belt is not his own, the red wrapped hilt out of place.  The leather of the hilt of the borrowed blade from the Solos’ collection at his own hip is silver and white, while Finn’s with the Skywalker colors is green and tan.

 

“Poison on the blade would be my best guess,” Poe admits.  “That or Hux will just shoot us all.”

 

“Poison then,” Finn says, making a face at Poe’s poor joke. He nods his agreement, and they both grin.

 

“No second chances then, you gotta draw first blood,” Poe says, rolling his eyes.  “God, I’m glad your father isn’t out here.”

 

“Hey, if he kills me, you’ll have to retire.  One of us has to keep him in line,” Finn informs him, not correcting Poe’s slip, and Poe lets the black humor roll over him, knowing Finn needs the reassurance of it.

 

Ben argues with Hux, then suddenly Hux grabs hold of his shoulder, wrenching hard and snarling in Ben’s face.  Try as he might, their conversation is too low for Poe to overhear.  Ben twists away, looking sullen but nodding, then walks to the center of the garden clearing to meet Finn. 

 

The nurse with Lord Bacca turns her back to the dueling space, keeping at least the proper appearances of deniability.  Lord Bacca does not, staying as a third witness, though Poe finds the idea of Lord Bacca as impartial to be more than a little flawed.

 

Finn rises, nodding to Poe, then joins Ben, not speaking but crossing swords.  The first swing is wide and hard from Ben, but Finn clearly expects it, his own sword slicing a neat arc up to meet it even as his feet scramble back to brace himself against the strength of the blow.  Ben’s lashing out in temper isn’t a surprise, and as long as Finn can stay calm and collected, Ben will wear down fast this way. 

 

Ben swings out sloppily again, and Poe frowns, not liking how out of control the younger man is, his technique vanishing into heavy chopping swings.  If he were to connect to Finn, he would probably draw first blood with a fatal blow.  Finn blocks it smoothly, swords vibrating from the ringing clash as they collide.  Ben stumbles back, breathing, and Poe can almost watch him pull himself back together, grip on the blade tightening and his control reassembling. 

 

“You could do the right thing, Finn,” Ben calls over as they start circling each other.  “Haven’t you done enough damage?  Turned my sister into a disgraced harlot?  Tricked my uncle into taking away half my inheritance and giving it to a common born no one? Poisoned my father’s mind and stolen the other half of my inheritance?”

 

“You poisoned your father,” Finn replies sternly.  “You were stupid enough to get caught.”

 

Ben lunges, feet telegraphing the movement, and Finn neatly sidesteps the rush, letting Ben’s momentum carry him past Finn easily.  Finn dips his own blade back, trying to catch Ben’s calf, but he narrowly misses.

 

“Tell me, did darling Rey know?”  Ben taunts, scrambling back and getting his blade back to the ready.  “Did she come to you, whisper in your ear that she found out how to steal all of Lord Solo’s lands and his title for you?”

 

Finn ignores the taunt, but Poe can spot the tightening around Finn’s eyes.  Ben’s taunts about Rey are cutting into Finn’s control.  “How long before you and your whore throw Mother out as well?”

 

Poe wonders what about that taunt breaks Finn, sending him forward with a series of hard cuts and parries, Ben engaging him properly this time.  The swords ring out sharply as they collide, and Poe judges the two men to be fairly evenly matched, in spite of Luke’s earlier comments, which worries him.  Finn puts a good deal of weight behind a blow, sending both men skidding apart, circling each other with a renewed wariness. 

 

Finn tips his sword, and Ben takes the bait, swinging immediately, and Poe finally sees the speed that had Luke worried.  The tip of the blade slips into Finn’s shirt sleeve, but Finn backs away easily, thrusting fingers through the tear and opening it further, showing off the unbroken dark skin of his upper arm. 

 

“Close isn’t good enough, is it?” he taunts Ben, and Poe has to choke down a laugh at the veiled implication about the possibly poisoned blade.  Ben’s face flickers oddly, and Hux’s hand falls all too casually to the hilt of his own sword.  Grimness chokes out any humor Poe finds in the taunt.  He’d lay odds on poison now for sure.  Probably something slow acting that will mimic a natural death.

 

Finn must sense this too, because his stance straightens, alertness pouring out of every muscle in his body.  Ben, in contrast, looks almost manic, his feet moving faster now, his grin a little too wide.  “It’ll be closer next time,” he promises.  “Maybe I’ll slice open your throat.”

 

“First blood only,” Lord Bacca rumbles loudly, voice surprisingly clear and loud above them.  It takes Finn’s attention for just an instant, and Ben lunges forward, sword pointed in a straight thrust at Finn’s chest.  Poe braces, the thrust knocking the breath from him as he watches.

 

Finn moves with a surprising burst of speed. He tilts sideways and his left arm raises above the thrust.  He slams his arm down, trapping the flat of the blade between his bicep and ribs, using his momentum to continue to spin his body and yank hard, the blade wrenching right out of Ben’s hand.  Finn lunges in suddenly off the pivot, getting hold of the red hilt with his left hand and swinging his shoulder and elbow around to knock Ben down, then rests both blades against Ben’s throat in a quick motion.

 

Ben freezes, and Poe can see the wide eyed alarm on Hux’s face as they all freeze, watching as Finn stares his brother in law down, both blades tense and waiting for him to decide between them. 

 

Poe can’t breathe, lungs aching horribly and his head spinning a little, and then finally, he draws in a deep breath as Finn’s right hand moves, a red line of blood perpendicular to Ben’s collarbone welling up and staining his shirt where the green hilted Skywalker blade has split his skin shallowly.

 

Finn draws back, handing the red hilted blade to Poe as he storms away, heading back for the house without a word. 

 

Ben isn’t getting up though.

 

Breathlessly, Poe turns to see Lord Bacca holds his revolver in hand, and he clearly is considering taking the shot if given the slightest bit of provocation.  Poe can scarcely imagine what it must be like to watch the son of the man who saved your life, your best friend, as he’s about to walk away with only a scratch to show for his treachery.

 

Carefully, knowing he’s treading through a field of _fougasse_ , Poe clears his throat.  “My lady, thank you for your service.  I don’t believe Mr. Solo will require any assistance.”

 

The older woman is looking rather dubiously at Lord Bacca.  “I’m not so sure you should be so quick to dismiss me, sir,” she croaks, settling a hand on Lord Bacca’s arm, which is frankly a great deal more daring than anything Poe would have been willing to attempt.

 

“Mr. Hux, I think you should see your friend to his club,” Poe suggests, looking over to find Hux appears to be his equal in concern, wrapping a hand around Ben’s arm and tugging him to his feet gently, trying to break the stare Ben has going with Lord Bacca.  “Ben, you should take rooms there for now. I’ll speak with the Skywalkers and Lady Solo, see if we can’t come up with a better arrangement.”

 

That finally seems to jar Ben, and he allows Hux’s tugging to finally spur him into motion.  Hux gives a considering look to the blade in Poe’s hand, but Poe deliberately sticks it into the ground at his side, having no intention of putting a weapon in Ben’s hand just now.  Hux finally moves with Ben. 

 

Bacca, for a moment, seems about to start after them, but then he allows the nurse at his side to turn him away from the two gentlemen.  He says something softly, and the woman blinks rapidly, her eyes enormous and comical behind her spectacles, before she chuckles.

 

“Yes, I’m sure you could have shot him before we stopped you, especially as none of us were all that eager to stop you,” she remarks, looking over to Poe.  “Thank you, Commander.  I’ll get him home now.”

 

Poe nods, watching as Lord Bacca lets the tiny woman lead him away.  “Huh.”

 

Poe turns at the sound of the voice, finding Luke has come down to the garden after him, probably hurrying down as soon as Finn had come up alone.  “Miss Kanata,” Luke says, mouth tilting oddly.  “I believe she’s one of his mistress, but I’ve never had confirmation.  If you believed Han’s stories, Lord Bacca has seven of them.  But she was a good choice, she’s served as a confidential medic for a number of gentlemen and ladies in London over the years.”

 

Poe makes a face.  “I’d place good odds on that suspicion of yours.  She kept him from shooting Ben just now.  Luckily we didn’t need her skills, though I suspect if Ben had drawn first blood, we might have.  I’m going to give the blade to Reverend Kenobi.  I’d love to confirm my theory and find out just what’s on the sword, if it is in fact poisoned.”

 

“Rey’s mothering over Finn,” Luke informs him, offering a wan smile.  “I thought I’d offer to walk you home so you can change before you go to dine with the enemy.”

 

“You worry too much,” Poe scoffs, and Luke smiles thinly.

 

“This can’t have endeared you to anyone.”

 

They’ve walked out of eye and earshot of anyone, deep within the garden, and Poe tugs Luke up to him, settling against a wall so he can pull Luke between his legs, wrapping him up and pulling him close.  “I’m actually a fairly cautious man,” he whispers, leaning in and pressing a slow, soft kiss to Luke’s lips.  “And my caution only grows as my attachment to you grows.”

 

“Poe,” Luke whispers, hesitating.  “I don’t know how to do this, because I’ve never had anyone like you in my life before.  And I’m terrified of losing you so soon after I found you.”

 

Poe lets Luke lean in, resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes, letting his mind and body unspool slowly while Luke combs his fingers through Poe’s hair.  Resting turns into tiny, butterfly light kisses to his forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, running down his cheekbones, touching the tip of his nose, before Luke finally seals their lips together with a sigh. 

 

“All right, go play with danger, see if I care,” Luke says too brightly, shoving Poe away, and Poe laughs, delighted, as he swings himself upright.

 

“Could you sound more fatherly?” he teases Luke, delighted when this earns him an actual swat to his rear end. Poe grins, tugging Luke back in for a thorough, deep kiss.  “You’re sure about that ultimatum?” he murmurs, wiggling so Luke’s hands fall to his ass.  Luke obligingly squeezes, rocking their hips roughly together in a tease that makes Poe regret his dinner plans more than any danger possibly could.  There’s something wild and hard edged to their play, making Poe suspect their disagreements will result in some spectacular resolutions.

 

“Hurry up and go to dinner.  Sooner you’re gone, the sooner you can come home and try to convince me otherwise,” Luke instructs him.

 

Poe’s delight carries him to Reverend Kenobi’s London address with surprising speed, where he drops off the sword, pleased to find it intrigues Kenobi as well. 

 

“I’ll see what I can learn,” Kenobi agrees.  He offers Poe dinner as well, and Poe waves him off, a little amused at how well situated he is in England compared to Spain.  His resolve to see his cousin through this next rebellion is being tested with surprising force for the first time in his life.

****

****


	10. Chapter 10

Leia sends her carriage to take Poe to the Netal estate, and surprisingly, she sends Wexley to drive him.  Poe finds he’s unsurprised to see the big man has tucked a pistol into his belt and remains with the carriage when Poe disembarks.  He’s not sure why, but something tells him that the man can actually use the gun and will be of help should it come to a fight. 

 

“Commander Dameron,” Lady Netal greets him as he’s handing his hat and gloves to a footman just inside the door.  She fairly glows in her dress, a daring gown of red cotton and cream print trimmed with a shimmery gold lace, shockingly colorful for a lady of her standing, but impressive against her deeply tanned skin.  Her lips are as crimson as the gown, making the slow curl of her smile when he bows to her all the more impressive.  “I’m pleased you could join us on such short notice.”

 

“As though I could refuse such a delightful invitation,” Poe replies, tucking her hand into his elbow so she can lead him into the drawing room.  He’s only seen her father in passing, but the man is terribly bent with age, the cane he leans on seeming to take up almost as much height as his body.

 

“Commander Dameron, I’d like to formally introduce my father, Lord Sanford Netal.  Father, the commander here has been surprisingly resourceful at keeping the peace and keeping Ben Solo out of foolish trouble.”

 

“I’m afraid your daughter exaggerates,” Poe demurs easily enough.  “I suspect I’ve simply prolonged the time until Ben Solo finally finds enough rope to hang himself, but I’ve done what I can to pull the rope from his reach.”

 

“You may be right,” the old man chuckles, and it’s a terrible sound, grating and gasping in his throat.  “There are some who simply cannot avoid the footsteps of their fathers’ blood.  Ben Solo may prove just as foolhardy and disposable as his father.”

 

“Mmm,” Poe agrees wordlessly, carefully locking his boiling rage away at the callous disregard the pair show for Han. 

 

“Have you read the fascinating work of Mr. Darwin, Commander?” Lady Netal asks, handing him a glass of something too ruby colored to be brandy.  She sees his curious look and smiles.  “It’s a fermented form of the pomegranate fruit.  We have a friend in Afghanistan who introduced us to it.  It’s sweet but has a lovely taste.”

 

Poe sips it cautiously and finds the taste rather cloyingly sweet, probably easy to mask all sorts of poisons in, so he discretely doesn’t swallow any of it, pretending to sip again instead.  “It is sweet,” he agrees.  “Fermented pomegranate, is that hard to produce?”

 

“Much simpler than you’d think, given the form of the fruit,” she replies knowingly. 

 

“To answer your question, I have read Mr. Darwin,” Poe redirects the conversation, hoping they won’t notice his disinterest in his drink.  “I first got my hands on a rather terrible Spanish translation, however I recently reread it in English.”

 

“Your language mastery is quite impressive,” Lord Netal remarks, and Poe chuckles.

 

“No, I confess, I relied quite heavily upon the translation for many of the scientific terms,” he replies.  “I fear my mastery is much stronger in the conversational usage.”

 

“I’ve become something of a student of Darwin and his survival theory,” Lord Netal says.  “I think Darwin stopped too short in his publication though.  Such theories applied to mankind and then consciously enforced for the good of all, that is what I feel our goal should be. A careful and studied practice in eugenics.”

 

Poe frowns, unfamiliar with the term.  “What he suggests is that only those with the best traits should be allowed to marry and procreate,” Lady Netal supplies, picking up on Poe’s confusion.  “If we eliminated the abundant births from the low born, the human race could flourish and rise above any number of undesirable traits.  Ignorance, for example.  It runs so rampant amongst the low born.”

 

Poe’s stomach turns, suddenly understanding where a number of Ben Solo’s warped ideas must come from.  “It doesn’t sound like much of a stretch, we already keep the royal bloodlines pure,” he comments, thinking that at least is a safe observation.  Dozens of other repulsed opinions in his mind get squished down into silence.

 

“Precisely!” Lord Netal crows, looking pleased.  “You’ll forgive our flouting of insider knowledge, but you and Her Highness Princess Phasma will make exquisitely pleasing children.  Intelligence and beauty quite well matched.”

 

“We’re still a ways off from that possibility,” Poe demurs, and Lady Netal laughs.

 

“Not so far as you imagine, I think.”  Her confidence is alarming.  “But rooting out of the low born and those with inferior traits is the work of time and sympathetic rule.  The real problem is those of good breeding who should know better but allow terrible matches to persist.”

 

“Like your host, Lord Skywalker,” Lord Netal shudders.  “I am utterly sorry you have to lodge with such a man.  If only I’d had some occasion to slip my own daughter into matrimony before now, I’d open my doors to you so you could escape such company.  And now to have allowed his own niece to marry that street cur and not disown them both.”

 

“Some men are simply too kind, too soft,” Poe suggests, and Lord Netal makes a nasty and displeased sound.

 

“Yes, perhaps that is Skywalker’s failing, too much empathy.  His mother was incredibly well born, but his father was foreign, Polish not Russian, in fact, so really, what can we be certain of when it comes to his stock?”

 

Poe barely suppresses a laugh, his host apparently not even realizing he’s slighted Poe with his comments.  He wonders if he brings up Jonathan Swift’s _A Modest Proposal_ if his host will think it a literal proposal.  The man’s delusions certainly seem suited to such a folly.  Lady Netal takes over swiftly, and Poe pegs that she’s much sharper than her father, turning back to more abstract discussions and the literal text of Darwin, which is easier to stomach than any discussion of Finn and Luke.

 

Dinner continues in the same vein, but Lady Netal shifts the discussion to snakes, which intrigues Poe.  “Your knowledge of serpents is utterly fascinating,” he tells her, which has the benefit of being true.  If it weren’t for her toxic view of the world and, Poe suspects, her love of assassinations, she’d actually be a brilliant woman he’d want to become acquainted with. 

 

“Are you at all afraid of snakes?” she asks, leaning forward, dark eyes dancing as she considers him with a good deal too much interest for a woman who thinks he’s to be married off for politics.

 

“I have a healthy respect and desire to keep a distance as I am not schooled in handling them,” he answers.  “But no fear of being near a properly managed one.”

 

“Then you must see my terrarium,” she announces, standing.  “Father, would you excuse us?  We’ll join you in the library for drinks after I show the commander my collection.”

 

Lord Netal sighs, looking a little appalled.  “Bazine, my dear, at least summon your lady’s maid and pretend to have some propriety, please,” he says.  Poe hides his smile. 

 

His amusement fades when the lady’s maid joins them.  She’s clearly petrified of snakes, and Lady Netal’s collection is beyond impressive.  She has three cobras, each a different color from the others, and Poe is intrigued in spite of himself when Lady Netal handles them without hesitation.  “Aren’t you afraid of being bitten?” he asks, and she shakes her head.  She tilts her hands toward her maid, making an amused sort of sound when the girl flees back to the entrance to the room, terrified.  It’s not privacy, but it does give the illusion of it, which is what Poe suspects Lady Netal wanted.

 

“I know how to handle them, and I frequently milk the poison from the serpents who possess venom,” she explains.  “It has a myriad of uses in medicine and beauty tonics,” she adds, and Poe smiles at the way she makes her voice sound all too innocent.  She uses the venom as venom, he has no doubt.

 

“I know I probably shouldn’t indulge any partiality, but this one is my favorite,” Lady Netal tells him, actually lifting a black snake with white bands out of a tank, her fingers tightly pinching its head so the serpent’s head is immobilized.  “She’s been milked of all her poison recently, and yet it builds so quickly again inside her I can never just hold her kindly.”

 

“She’s also from your travels to Afghanistan?” Poe inquires, but keeps a healthy distance from this particular snake. 

 

“Yes, she’s a krait.  And also by far the deadliest thing in the room,” Lady Netal says, dreamy fondness in her tone. 

 

“I’d wager she’s being held by the deadliest thing in the room,” Poe says aloud, flashing a charming smile when those dark eyes flick quickly to his face.  “Mastery over the poisons of such creatures combined with a brilliant mind,” he adds, and she actually flushes a little, looking utterly pleased.

 

“I suddenly think I envy your Russian princess,” Lady Netal says as she returns the snake to its terrarium.  “I’d be ill-suited to life as a monarch, but you do have a way of flattering a woman I could grow used to, Commander.”

 

Poe chuckles, offering her his arm, and she takes it, guiding him back up to the sitting room where Lord Netal has drinks poured and waiting.  Whatever Lady Netal was after or whatever test that had been, showing off the snake collection, it seems Poe must have passed, because she nods to her father once and he suddenly stops mincing words.

 

“Commander, we do have one final concern before we agree to add any more of our own funding to your rebellion in Spain,” he says, steepling his fingers.

 

“Ask me anything, I’ll be glad to answer,” Poe says, a little amused. 

 

“The girl that Lord Skywalker has suddenly taken in as his ward,” Lord Netal says.  “Forgive me, but the timing seems suspect, and illegitimate heirs, even female ones…”

 

“Let me put your mind at ease,” Poe says, understanding where Netal intends to go with this.  “Skywalker asked me to find her.  He knew of her, and his brother in law had been either unwilling or unable to locate her.”

 

“So she is his,” Lady Netal smirks, looking like a cat that’s liberated the cream.  “The high and proper lord fathered a common brat.  Tell me, her mother.  You’d make my night if you say she was a street whore.”

 

Sadly, Poe knows he doesn’t even have to lie to answer this one the way she’d like.  BB’s mother had worked in a brothel, and it must show on his face, because Lady Netal whoops with triumphant laughter.  “Lord, I wish Mara were still alive.  I’d love to have rubbed her smug little face in this.”

 

“I gather you were acquainted with Lady Skywalker?” Poe asks, and Lady Netal smirks.

 

“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know the tale.  The Skywalkers have kept their secrets well buried.  Lord Skywalker’s father, the late Anakin Skywalker, was sent here after being trained in Russia as a sleeper agent.  He got a little too deep in, married… what was her maiden name, father?  Lady Padme?”

 

“Amidala,” Lord Netal supplies.  “Most of Skywalker’s estates and holdings were originally bequeathed to him through her.  Lord Amidala had no sons and no male relations to entail them away to.  So his son-in-law came out quite well in the arrangement.”

 

“Then Russia tapped him, called him back in to the shadows,” Lady Netal continues the tale.  “Skywalker had practically gone native, they had to use some extreme measures to persuade him.  But once Lady Padme was removed, he fell back in line nicely.  At first I suspect it was the threat to his children that kept him in line, but after years of service, he even married one of them off to another sleeper agent, Lady Mara Skywalker nee Jade.”

 

“Lady Mara was a failure,” Lord Netal scoffs.  “She was supposed to be as deadly as you, my dear, and twice as skilled at fighting, but when she was discovered, she panicked and went after the queen.  Lady Solo, an untrained General’s wife, shot her.”

 

“Sounds like she got arrogant, overlooking Lady Solo’s presence,” Poe remarks dryly.  “Every wife of a man of war knows how to handle at least some small arms.  A husband worth anything would certainly instruct his wife.  A good partner is your greatest asset.”

 

Lady Netal smiles, looking pleased.  “Mara used to brag about her husband being a cold fish, so she never had to lie with him,” she finishes.  Poe can’t imagine Lady Netal had been more than 12 or 13 at the time, but he could see why it would leave a sour impression.  Lady Netal will likely be married for political gain or placement, saddled to a man she does not love.  “I enjoy thinking he was getting some laughs behind her back.”

 

“Is that why you’ve included someone like Ben Solo in this?  His temper is utterly unpredictable, but if Lady Skywalker was the one to bring him in…” he trails off when Lady Netal laughs.

 

“Ben Solo is a patsy, unless he can regain the title,” she tells Poe reassuringly.  “Marquis Solo was set to be the swing vote on a piece of trade legislation going before the House of Lords in a few weeks that would have opened a route for our allies to start arming certain factions within Afghanistan.  Obviously the late Marquis would have voted against the agreement, but we had hoped that Ben Solo could pull the same votes as his father and bring the vote through.”

 

“And even if we can sway the new Marquis Skywalker, he won’t carry the same votes over,” Poe observes, and Lady Netal lifts an eyebrow.

 

“You think you could convince the new Marquis?”

 

Poe shrugs lazily.  “I’ve had to sell harder arguments.  He’s the type who can be convinced with a good argument from someone he considers a friend.  If you can construct an argument that would overlap with Spain’s interests, with mine, I could steer him.  But as you said, you need Lord Solo’s contemporaries as well.”

 

“Let me think on this some,” Lord Netal replies, and Poe can almost see the gears spinning behind the old man’s eyes.  Deftly, he turns the conversation over to small talk and gossip, and Lady Netal jumps at the conversation change as well.

 

* * *

 

Luke looks up from his letter to his solicitor when he hears the landing outside his door creak, frowning when Poe’s door opens and closes a moment later.  He waits, but he doesn’t hear Poe’s footsteps approach the adjoining door.  He hesitates, but then sets his pen down and goes to the connecting door.  He tests the doorknob, and it turns easily under his fingertips, gliding open quietly.  Poe seems to have made it as far as his bed, then collapsed without even removing his boots, a little like a marionette when the strings are suddenly cut.  He hesitates again, not sure if his lover will welcome him or not, and Poe tilts his head, cracking his eyes open.

 

“You’ll have to give me a moment to muster my strength to join you,” Poe remarks.  Luke slides into the room, closing the door behind him and joining Poe on his bed, moving his hands to stroke Poe’s curls.  “Mmm, or we could do this, I could do this,” Poe concedes, tipping his head so it pushes against Luke’s hands.

 

Luke chuckles but obligingly threads his fingers deeper and combs through Poe’s hair, raking his nails along Poe’s scalp, half surprised the man doesn’t actually purr with appreciation.  “Rough dinner?” Luke asks, and Poe sighs.

 

“Some people I think I should get to throw in small windowless rooms forever just for existing,” Poe replies.  Luke gentles his hands a little when his fingers catch in a snarl, but works the tangled hair loose carefully.  Poe is silent, but Luke just waits him out, soothing his lover with a gentle touch.  Eventually, Poe says, “She seemed to really enjoy tormenting her maid by handling a live cobra in front of her.”

 

Luke frowns, a little disconcerted by Poe’s description.  “I assume the worst of any woman who would attract the admiration of Mr. Hux, but is Lady Netal really that vicious?”

 

“Whatever you assume, you should probably multiply several fold more,” Poe groans.  “I’m fairly certain she’s trained in a number assassination techniques but favors poison.”

 

Luke’s hand stills, and Poe opens his eyes warily.  “So she is the one who gave Ben the poison,” Luke says more than asks, and Poe nods.  “She’s also the one influencing him?”

 

“Her and Mr. Hux, along with Lord Netal, I believe, and above them, Lord Snoke,” Poe hesitates, and Luke resumes his careful finger combing of the other man’s hair.  “I’m fairly certain Lady Mara didn’t recruit Ben in any way.”

 

Luke feels as though the breath punches out of him, the escape of a worried inhale he didn’t realize he’d been holding since he learned about Ben’s duplicity.  “How are you so sure?” he asks softly.

 

Poe makes a face.  “I’m afraid your late wife is not held in high esteem even among those in that wonderful circle of hell I’ve just escaped.”

 

“Was it the one with the lake of ice or the virtuous pagans?” Luke teases Poe gently and is rewarded by Poe’s lips twitching upwards, a little gloom lifting from his face. 

 

“I complain of hell and he gives me Dante.  No wonder I fell for him,” Poe remarks to the ceiling, before he sits up on his elbow, leaning in to kiss Luke soundly.  He pulls back, making a face.  “Sorry, we should take this over to your room.”

 

“Why? There’s a perfectly serviceable bed here,” Luke replies, a little confused. And unlike Poe, he’s already down to just his shirt and breeches over bare feet, so it would make more sense for Poe to put away his top layers.

 

“Well, for one, the oil is in your room,” Poe says.

 

“I have other plans for tonight,” Luke dismisses it.  “What’s your second concern?”  Seeing Poe’s hesitance, he adds, “Poe, what’s your real concern?”

 

“It’s your wife’s room,” he blurts out, face going surprisingly red.  “I didn’t want to raise her specter when we were together this way.”

 

Luke considers the room.  Since Mara’s death it’s been repainted, and the bedding and drapes are all new, green, because he knew she hated the color.  He takes in all of Poe’s belongings, which in a little over a month have certainly claimed space through most of the room.  “No,” he disagrees, bringing his hand up to cup Poe’s face.  “I haven’t thought of it as anything except your room for quite some time now.  You are mine, and you will always have a space in my homes, Poe.  Anything about it you want to change, you only need to ask.”

 

Poe seems a little taken aback, and Luke tries not to sigh.  “You have an estate of your own, correct?”

 

“Yavin House,” Poe says fondly, shrugging.  “It’s not much, but yes.  Just north of Grenada.”

 

“And Iolo had a room there?” Luke asks, and Poe nods.  “Would it be my room now?”

 

“No,” Poe replies, his mouth quirking up in the faintest hint of a mischievous smile.  “The windows face full east, and it is a guest room on the lowest floor.  It’s a terrible room.  I never understood why he preferred it.  I’d put you in the purple room.”

 

“The purple room,” Luke repeats, trying not to let his skepticism show.

 

“When I was very young,” Poe tells him, and Luke tries not to shiver appreciatively at how Poe’s accent thickens when he thinks of home.  “I got my first set of paints.  Somehow, I spilled my one of paints,” he pauses, searching for the word.  “You make it with a thinner mixed with paint, I think you would call it a stain? No, a glaze?  Anyway, it was a purple color I had used to darken the canvas, and it poured all over across the wood floor of the room.  Try as she might, my mother’s maid could never get the purple stain removed from the wood.  So we called the purple room, even after my father brought home a rug to cover the stain.  It’s at the end of the hall next to my room, on the second floor.  If we wished, a door joining the rooms could be added quite easily.”

 

“Why did he stay so far from you?” Luke asks curiously.  “I would choose the room closest to you every time.”

 

“We were both scared, too young still, too concerned for career and reputation, not to mention our lives.  It’s still a capital crime to take a lover of the same gender in Spain,” Poe admits.  “My household is selected for me by my cousin, when I have any household at all.  Frankly, other than the caretaker, my father’s man, I haven’t had any staff there in years.  I haven’t resided there for more than a few weeks at a time since Iolo died, but the caretaker is a good man, and he manages the estate well in my absence.”

 

“I’d love to visit,” Luke admits, pleased when that makes Poe smile. 

 

“I’d love to take you to _la Santa Iglesia Catedral de la Encarnación de Granada_ ,” Poe tells him.  “You don’t have to be Catholic to appreciate _la grandeza de la iglesia_ ,” he clears his throat, then looks to Luke.  “Sorry, the grandeur of the cathedral.  It took almost 200 years to complete its construction.”

 

“I’d love to see it.  And I like when you speak Spanish,” Luke says, though like is understating matters. 

 

“ _Pero no comprendes_ ,” Poe says, and Luke knows from his tone he’s being teased.  “ _Como te necesito, mi amor.  Te amo_ , _Luke_ ,” he says, and Luke blinks.

 

“I know those words, _te amo_ ,” Luke repeats it, and something about his pronunciation makes Poe chuckle.  “It’s the same in Latin.  _Te amo_ , I love you.”

 

Poe smiles, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the tip of Luke’s nose.  “And so I do, in English, Spanish or Latin, it would seem.”

 

Luke smiles, but his stomach is suddenly fluttering, full of butterflies.  “And I love you, Poe.”

 

Poe sits up, humor draining away from his face and leaving something raw and hopeful behind.  Luke draws him in gently, but the kiss that follows is anything but gentle.  Poe seems determined to pour every bit of need he has into the kiss, and Luke gladly matches him, even as he lets Poe roll him onto his back, straddling him and pushing him down when he tries to rise again.  Bemused, he leans back on his elbows, looking up at Poe.

 

“I could ride you, like this,” Poe remarks, grinding his hips down so the friction sparks against Luke.  “If you weren’t so set against taking me.”

 

Luke’s pretty sure Poe lets him get away with it, but he rolls them over, mimicking the way Poe straddled him.  “Or I could ride you, that sounds fun,” Luke replies.  “Or…” he trails off, leaning down and flicking open the buttons on Poe’s waistcoat and shirt, baring his torso to the lamplight.  Poe struggles a little to help Luke push the garments away, but the cufflinks at Poe’s wrist catch, leaving Poe a trapped by his own shirt.  Luke impishly pushes Poe’s arms up, tucking the soldier’s clothing into the headboard so his arms are stretched above his head.  Poe looks impressed, laying back like a willing sacrifice.

 

Luke trails his fingers down Poe’s chest, skimming over the clear cut lines of muscle he finds.  “So you have me at your mercy,” Poe observes, voice husky.  “What will you do with me?”

 

“So very many ideas,” Luke admits, but trails his fingers down to the buttons on Poe’s trousers.  He rubs Poe’s erection through them, just to reassure himself Poe’s quite on board with this too, then works the trousers open, pulling them down around Poe’s boots.  He has Poe quite indecently trapped, and Luke rather likes the way it looks.  It takes a little nudging to get Poe’s legs to part enough so that Luke can kneel between them.  Poe’s eyes shine as he watches Luke, face twisted up with anticipation. 

 

Luke forces himself to slow down, taking his time lowering his head so he can watch how Poe seems to quiver, his muscles actually rippling when Luke gets close enough that his breath falls warm against Poe’s cock.  “Please, _por favor_ ,” Poe tries, and Luke smiles, amused that Poe has caught on to just how much he enjoys the thick rolling accent that colors Poe’s voice when he speaks his native tongue.   

 

He starts carefully just flicking out his tongue so he can gather a taste of the liquid beading at the tip of Poe’s erection.  It’s salty, but not unpleasant, so Luke repeats the motion. This time he lets his tongue linger and trace its way up Poe’s cock, and the groan that pulls from Poe bolsters his confidence further.

 

He slides just the head of Poe’s cock into his mouth first, tongue playing with the loose foreskin, which makes Poe curse, or so Luke suspects from the tone, in a vehement burst of rapid Spanish.  He tries to take more of Poe in his mouth, surprised when he chokes a little on the effort.  “Gently, darling, please,” Poe murmurs, tilting his head up so he can see Luke.  “You don’t have to take it all in, you were doing just fine before.  Walk before you run.”

 

Luke considers this, then goes back to slowly teasing Poe’s full length with his tongue, tasting and testing for what spots produce the best sensations.  He gets a little more adventurous and laves at Poe’s testicles, sucking them into his mouth one after the other to watch Poe squirm.  He presses his tongue hard at the skin just behind Poe’s balls, surprised when this gets Poe jolting so hard one of his hands slips free of his shirt.  He gives Poe a warning look, and Poe makes a show of wrapping the sleeve around his wrist and grasping hold of it.

 

He presses his thumb to that spot again, smiling when it gets an almost equally vehement response. “You remember, the spot inside you when I was fucking you,” Poe gasps shakily, and Luke nods.  “Some men can be stimulated there from the outside, like you just did to me.”

 

“Huh,” Luke considers it, taking in Poe’s body and the anatomy of such a thing, and tucks the knowledge away.  He likes that Poe is willing to explain, so he rewards the explanation by sucking in the tip of Poe’s cock and rubbing gently against that spot with his thumb.  Poe’s cries, some strange mix of Spanish and heavily accented English nonsense, are utterly amazing. 

 

“Luke! Luke, I’m so close.” Poe lets go with the free hand and pushes Luke’s head back, then comes, spilling across his stomach.  Luke frowns, a little puzzled by Poe pushing him back, but Poe has collapsed back, looking wrecked.  That Luke likes, so he disregards the rest.  He grabs a cloth from the washstand to wipe Poe clean quickly, then plays with the beads of sweat, chasing them with his fingertips over Poe’s muscles until they rest at the hollow of his throat.  Poe swallows, and Luke looks up, finding Poe watching him carefully. 

 

“You okay?” Poe asks, and Luke frowns again. 

 

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” Luke remarks.  “Wasn’t I the one who had you at my mercy?”

 

Poe laughs, a tired sound, then slips his hand and feet free with just a few little wiggles of movement, turning onto his side and curling toward Luke.  “Bonds are often only as good as the person enjoying being held,” he reassures Luke.  “But since I am at your mercy, my lord, how would you have me serve you?” 

 

Luke groans, shaking his head.  “Nope, no good,” he remarks.  “I like you teasing me, but I don’t think you playing at serving me does anything for me?”

 

“No?” Poe asks, sitting up a little and sliding a hand down to Luke’s pants.  “Well, there is a little something here to work with.  So teasing aside, ask me for anything, Luke.  What do you want?”

 

“To know why you’re so determined to be generous,” Luke remarks, and he can see he hit his mark at the surprise on Poe’s face.  “I love you, Poe.  And I’d prefer you not be afraid to take what you need.”

 

“Not afraid,” Poe reassures him, gently pushing Luke’s hair off his face.  “I just know that you’ve never had someone be generous with you.  Our first time, you said it felt so different.  I guess I just wanted to make sure you knew how it felt to be…” he hums, and Luke recognizes it as Poe stalling in search of a word.  “ _Adoración…no._ Cherished.  That’s the word I want.”

 

“You’ve done that very well, Commander, mission accomplished,” Luke teases him gently.  “And I do feel loved and cherished, so much beyond anything else I’ve ever felt.”

 

“Good,” Poe replies, flushing slightly.  “But you still haven’t told me what you want.”

 

“I want you to take me, if you can get hard again,” Luke decides.  “If not, your fingers, in me.  I love to feel you in me.”

 

Poe tips Luke’s chin up, stretching his throat out and slowly trailing kisses down to the hollow of Luke’s throat, the action leaving Luke feeling oddly vulnerable.  His shirt buttons slide apart under Poe’s fingers and his mouth follows them down, trailing kisses and gentle nips down his breastbone and over his stomach. 

 

Luke scrambles to help when Poe unbuttons his pants, then shoves the remainder of his clothes to the floor.  “Damn,” Poe remembers, pushing Luke down.  “Wait here.”

 

He hurries, unconcerned with his own nudity, through the adjoining door, and Luke takes a moment to appreciate him leaving.  Poe never looks more burnished and beautiful than he does under the flickering illumination of the lamps and fireplace, and Luke’s the only one who gets to see him laid bare this way.  He returns a moment later with the phial of oil, smirking as the bottle is visibly depleted. 

 

“I’ll have to collect a pair in the market next time, one for beside each our beds,” Poe remarks, sliding up to sit down on the bed next to Luke.  “Do you want to be on your stomach or on your back?”

 

“Back, please.  I want to watch you,” Luke replies easily. 

 

Poe eases his legs apart then slips a finger inside, and Luke struggles not to simply roll his head back and close his eyes against the pleasure.  “God, Poe,” he gasps, and Poe pushes closer, helping brace Luke’s leg so he can more easily slip a second finger inside, and Luke ignores the utterly humiliating whine of need and pleasure this tears from him. 

 

“How many men would kill for such a responsive lover,” Poe mutters, sounding amazed, and Luke loops a hand carefully up to the nape of Poe’s neck guiding him down to kiss him.  Poe shifts up on his knees, pouring more into the kiss, and Luke manages to get a hand down to Poe’s groin, tugging experimentally at Poe’s softened penis.  Poe groans, and his dick twitches a little in Luke’s grasp, so Luke brings his thumb up to the head, pushing to see if he can coax a better response from Poe.

 

“Luke, you may not… you don’t have to,” Poe starts, stammering when Luke tightens his grip a little.

 

“I want you in me,” Luke demands, knowing it will push Poe’s buttons.  “Can you give me that?”

 

It’s a wrench, letting Poe’s fingers slide out of him, but Luke pushes Poe back, determined to get the younger man hard again.  “I managed, and you’re younger than me,” Luke teases him, then slips his hand down further.  He uses his thumb to massage at the spot he discovered earlier, but determined to really push Poe, he then lets his fingers trail down even further, rubbing a too light teasing circle over Poe’s entrance.

 

“Oh you _gilipollas_ ,” Poe curses.  “ _Que te folle un pez!”_

 

“That didn’t sound flattering,” Luke remarks, amused.  “I think I’ve heard BB use a couple of those words, so I’m really sure they aren’t polite.”

 

“Are you going to fuck me?” Poe asks, glaring when Luke shakes his head.  “Then I’m quite allowed to call you _gilipollas._ Bastard.”

 

“Sadly, my parents were married, and until we declare we are, you’ll have to be content with fucking me instead,” Luke shoots back, satisfied with how Poe’s cock now stands up for him.  “How does this riding thing work?”

 

Poe sighs, but shifts Luke up to straddle his stomach, then has him lean forward.  Luke takes advantage of having Poe’s throat near to his mouth and nibbles carefully at the skin behind Poe’s ear as Poe uses his fingers again, carefully making sure Luke is well and truly open for Poe.  Poe coats himself with the oil, then guides Luke till just the head of Poe’s cock sinks inside Luke.

 

“There,” Poe says, biting his lower lip.  “Now you have control, take as much as you want, as fast as you want.  Like riding.”

 

Luke sits back up, sliding more of Poe’s length into him as he does, groaning pleasantly at the feeling of being filled.  Once he’s adjusted, he pushes back, sinking the last bit of Poe’s length inside, fully seated on Poe’s cock.  He slowly draws himself up again, Poe’s cock sliding mostly free, then sinks down.  He repeats it a few times, then shifts, trying to get a better angle.  It doesn’t seem to work, even less satisfying than before, and Luke shifts again, growing a little frustrated as he can’t seem to get the right angle or friction he needs. 

 

“It’s not for everyone,” Poe says gently, sensing his frustration and stilling Luke.  “Hold onto me.” 

 

He rolls them over, dick sliding out to the tip but not slipping free from Luke, and once he has Luke on his back, Poe shoves back in, and Luke grunts, surprised.  “Yes, more of that,” he demands, and Poe quickly complies.

 

Poe isn’t as gentle as he has been before, and Luke clings to him, feeling utterly devastated and possessed in all the best ways.  He wants to tell Poe this, but the best he can manage is crying out wordlessly as Poe finds the right angle to make him see stars. 

 

It seems to go on for ages, Poe battering into him and when Luke starts to feel close, Poe leans down, squeezing his fingers tightly at the base of Luke’s erection and making the urge recede sharply.  “That is a dirty trick,” Luke manages to complain, but Poe just grins down at him wickedly.

 

“It’ll take some time for me to come again, but you were determined to have me a second time,” Poe reminds Luke.  “So it seems fair that I prolong your pleasure to match it.”

 

Luke tries to stay quiet after that, but Poe pulls whines and cries from him and cuts him off all too easily, reading Luke’s reactions like a book.  “Please, Poe, please,” he finally begs when he feels himself growing close yet again.  “Pleasepleaseplease…”

 

It becomes a wordless shout this time as Poe shoves into him deeply, and Luke comes, muscles trembling and collapsing under him.  He half expects the high ache of Poe continuing to fuck him to carry on, but he realizes Poe has already spilled inside him, his orgasm wrung out of him by Luke’s. 

 

It’s a long time before Luke comes back to his senses enough to try and shift them both into the bedding, and when he does, it suddenly makes him laugh quietly.  “Hmm?” Poe asks, half asleep already.

 

“I was just thinking,” Luke bites his lip, trembling with laughter.  “It’s certainly your room now.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Reverend Kenobi arrives bright and early while Poe is still enjoying breakfast with Luke, Finn, Rey, and BB.  BB has as usual horded the wolf’s share of the food, and he hates to admit it, but both he and Rey are guilty of pushing extra plates and pieces they don’t want over to her.  At this rate, with any luck, Poe thinks, she’ll be as round as a croquet ball by next season. 

 

He hears the door, dimly, but ignores it, a little too wrapped up in nudging Luke with his toes under the table and watching the man struggle to keep a straight face.  It isn’t until Artie shows the minister in that he realizes he has let his guard slip too far and scrambles to pull it back around himself.  Kenobi frowns, looking a little dismayed.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says carefully, and Luke looks up, smiling widely.

 

“You’re always welcome,” Luke replies, and gently, he catches Poe’s foot between his own, holding it still for a moment.  Poe settles back down into a less alert level, trusting Luke.  Kenobi seems to like him well enough so far, but he suspects that could change at any time if Kenobi truly realizes the extent of the physical connection Poe has with Luke.

 

“Commander, that sword kept me up most of the night, but I’ve figured it out,” the minister says, holding up the wrapped sword box in his hands.

 

“You needn’t have…” Poe starts, then backtracks, reminding himself that this man is like a father to Luke, and perhaps a grandfather to Finn.  He’s invested too.  And quick news is good news.  “Thank you, Reverend, I appreciate the quick work.  Any good news?”

 

“You were right, the blade is definitely coated in a poison, a particularly nasty snake venom,” Kenobi informs him. “Common Krait.”

 

“Common?” Poe asks, enthusiasm more than a little dampened.  “So it can be found anywhere?”

 

“No, that’s the proper name,” Kenobi replies, grinning.  “The Common Krait is a subspecies of krait, a very deadly one, found mostly in the Afghan region.  If there’s one in London, it’s almost certain to be one of a kind here.”

 

“Oh!” Poe sits up, suddenly pleased.  “Reverend, that’s excellent!  This ties Lady Netal to the poison!  The only thing I got from dinner, other than a headache over the discussion of her father’s theories on eugenics, was a good look at her terrifying snake terrarium.”

 

“That’s the word!” BB exclaims, her chair rocking violently as she nearly tips it in her haste to sit up properly.  “Poe, that’s the word Lord Snoke used that I couldn’t find a meaning for!”

 

“Terrarium?” Poe asks.  “It’s a snake cage, or for lizards…”

 

“No, _eugenics_ ,” she says emphatically.

 

“I confess, I’m not familiar with the term either,” Reverend Kenobi agrees.  Poe looks over to Luke, who shakes his head.  Finn also looks perplexed, and Rey is frowning.

 

“Lord Netal had to define it for me, but I assumed it was because of a deficiency in my English,” Poe says slowly.  “He summed it up as the belief that humans should actively practice the type of selection outlined by Mr. Darwin, particularly in a form of culling the lower classes or those with undesirable traits.  Do you think he coined the term himself?”

 

“If he didn’t, he must have heard it from someone who did,” Finn remarks.  “It’s nothing I heard in medical school, and we made a thorough study of Mr. Darwin.  If he coined it…”

 

“Then Lord Netal is Lord Snoke,” Poe turns to BB, curious.  “You’re the only one who has seen them both.  Lord Netal is the man who asked you about being Luke’s daughter at Lord Solo’s funeral.  Could he be Snoke?”

 

BB purses her lips, then nods slowly.  “Yes, they could be the same man.” 

 

“Did you get the sense that he could be the ringleader?” Luke asks Poe, who gives it the same long moment of consideration BB did.  He remembers his offer to try and convince Finn, and the slight deferment Lady Netal had shown her father. 

 

“Yes, I think so,” he agrees.  “Or at least he’s the one they all defer to.  His daughter may be more of the mind behind the planning than anyone suspects, but she ultimately seemed to defer to him.”

 

“Is it enough to ask Leia to round them all up?” Luke asks, and Poe raps his knuckles on the table surface as he stands.

 

“Excuse me, I think I need to visit Lady Solo,” he says, alarmed when Luke reaches out and takes his hand.  He looks to Reverend Kenobi, who he finds is smiling faintly, but his heart doesn’t seem to want to stop racing.

 

“Be careful,” Luke reminds him, and Poe winks at him, snagging a berry from BB’s plate just to watch her scowl up at him.  He nods to Artie as he collects his hat at the door, surprised to find Reverend Kenobi has followed him. 

 

“Something else, Reverend?” Poe asks, heart kicking up again in panic, but the older man smiles.

 

“I won’t keep you, Commander, I simply wanted to say…” the minister swallows oddly.  “You have nothing to fear from me.”

 

“Oh?” Poe says, more than a little surprised.  He knows that Luke believes it, but he never would have expected to have the sentiment actually voiced.

 

“Commander, I never married, and I have no family.  But I don’t say it lightly when I say I consider the Skywalker twins like my own.”

 

“That wouldn’t stop many parents, blood or not,” Poe says.

 

“Perhaps it should,” Kenobi replies, and Poe shakes his head.

 

“You’re a very strange fellow, particularly for a man of the cloth.  I suspect I’ll enjoy getting to know you better,” Poe decides, offering his hand.  Kenobi takes it, looking relieved.

 

“I’m hoping the same,” he replies.

 

Poe walks to the Solo House, mainly so he can use the servant’s entrance and confirm with a rather cranky Wexley that Ben Solo has not been back to the house since the duel yesterday.  He finds Leia and her breakfast tray in her study, pouring over a too large stack of mail, and resolves to send Rey and Finn over to help her if she’s going to start tackling business again. 

 

“Well, from the satisfaction you’re radiating, I’m guessing you have all the names I need,” she remarks, sitting back.  “Snoke?”

 

“Lord Netal,” Poe says, and lays the full thing out for Leia, who jots down notes.  By the time he’s finished, she has an extensive list of names, and they’ve reached an agreed conclusion that Netal is Snoke.   Leia rings the bell behind her desk to summon Miss Atsy.

 

“Here’s a list of names, to be rounded up and taken to the Tower to await questioning,” she instructs her maid.  “Send discreet men, and make sure they take care not to be seen.  We want this done quick and quiet.  If for any reason any of the individuals on that list cannot be found, I want to know their last known whereabouts and where they were supposed to be going.  Trace them until they’re found or we’re certain which direction to send people after them.”

 

Poe starts to stand to go with her, and Leia shakes her head.  “I’m sorry, but you need to stay clear, Poe.  If your cover is blown…”

 

“Fair enough,” Poe agrees, settling back down.  “I hate missing the action though.

 

* * *

 

Luke finds Poe at his easel, working on a painting of BB with the terrible orange dye in her curls, though it’s begun to fade already from the real girl’s hair.  He watches the other man paint for a long moment, before making a noise so he won’t startle Poe when he speaks. 

 

Poe has a gift for portraiture, something caught perfectly in his brush strokes.  On the top of the dry pile Poe has abandoned to the side of the room is a terrifying looking blonde woman with brilliant blue eyes, and it takes Luke a moment to place her as the Russian princess the conspiracy wanted to marry off to Poe.  As far as Luke knows, Poe has only seen her a handful of times at a distance, but the resemblance is remarkable.  His fingers itch to dig through the pile, see what else Poe has tucked away, as the other canvases are smaller and well concealed behind the painting of the princess.

 

 

Poe doesn’t look up, but Luke feels the difference, knows Poe is aware of him now.

 

“You’re quite good,” he remarks, and Poe laughs.

 

“I’m terribly out of practice,” he replies.  “But thank you.  I have missed the distraction this provides.”

 

“The house does seem awfully quiet,” Luke remarks, and Poe nods.

 

“Rey and Finn have gone to Solo House.  You might consider urging your sister to expand the top level of her League.  She should have had more help at hand when this happened.  There seems to be a mountain of paperwork and mail awaiting Leia now that she’s taken back the reigns of the whole operation,” Poe explains.  “They took BB with them.  She’s showing them where to find the body of our missing footman and then will take one of Leia’s agents to get Bastian’s statement.”

 

“And why aren’t you out helping round up conspirators?” Luke asks, and Poe looks rueful.

 

“I’m keeping a low profile in case I need to go back into the conspiracy for some reason,” he admits.  “With the crown closing the noose on the lot of them, I can’t imagine they’d buy into anything I fed them, but I’m being held in reserve in case we should need a desperation move on this chess board.”

 

“Can I help distract you?” Luke offers, and he probably should be a little alarmed by the gleam in Poe’s eyes. 

 

“Go fetch a chair from the library, then come back,” Poe suggests, removing the canvas with BB’s painting from the easel and setting it to the side. 

 

“Are you about to make me regret the offer?” Luke asks, and Poe’s grin says it all.

 

He hurries to the library, taking one of the lighter wooden chairs that leans back a little when sat in so he won’t mind if, given Poe’s story from last night, paint ends up spattered on it.  He returns to find that Poe has lit his lamps and drawn all the low curtains so no one can see into the room, though the top windows still allow a good deal of sunlight in.  Poe closes the door behind him, flipping the lock, and Luke frowns, now growing even more concerned.

 

“Poe, what—”

 

“Strip,” Poe says with a wicked grin.  “It’s been far too long since I’ve practiced painting a nude model.”

 

“I’m hardly a good model,” Luke tries to protest, but Poe’s already gone to work on Luke’s cravat.

 

“You’ll be perfect, trust me,” Poe replies.  His face clearly brooks no refusal, so Luke sighs, giving in.  He hopes fervently that no one comes home early and that Poe loses interest in this particular distraction quickly.  He tugs off his clothes, laying them neatly on the table so that he can redress quickly if needed, and turns to find Poe watching him, a little of his usual concern returning to his face. 

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Poe reassures him, but Luke shuts him up with a quick kiss.

 

“I promised a distraction, didn’t I?” he replies, and maybe that will be a better way he can get Poe to move on from this foolish idea, Luke decides, trying for a more lingering kiss.

 

“I’m painting you, not playing with you,” Poe quips, pushing Luke away with a light touch.  “Go, sit in your chair, and I’ll position you.”

 

Luke sits, a little bemused by Poe’s direction, and promptly regrets his choice in chairs.  The chair tilts back, leaving his body stretched out on display, but Poe looks pleased.  He pushes Luke’s legs till they fall loosely apart, and Luke flushes when Poe reaches down and strokes his mostly hard penis and finishes waking him fully before backing away.  “You’d better be planning on taking care of that eventually,” Luke complains, and Poe grins wickedly.  He selects a surprisingly small canvas, but Luke supposes he should be grateful.  He can’t imagine Poe packing many details into the small square.

 

“Eventually leaves me with so much time on my hands,” Poe replies, and Luke’s afternoon becomes the worst exercise in frustration he’s ever experienced.  Poe’s complete focus on painting him is somehow utterly erotic and insanely boring at the same time.  Lounging nude under Poe’s gaze keeps him lightly buzzing with a drowsy sort of arousal, which Poe reinforces with erotically charged comments, but then Poe shushes him any time their conversation stirs him overly much. 

 

Once the light begins to vanish, and Poe sets his brush aside and slides down between Luke’s legs.  Luke rolls his head back around to gaze down at Poe, a little surprised how sleepy he’s become, even though his arousal has lingered lazily for a couple hours now.  He reaches up, first threading fingers through Poe’s hair then gently tugging, and Poe seems pleased by that, following his guidance.  His mind nudges him, reminding him of Poe promising that he wouldn’t mind if Luke got a little rough with him, so Luke tugs harder, making Poe groan as he slips forward and takes Luke in his mouth.

 

Luke groans, the heavy wet heat of Poe’s mouth around him a little more jarring than he would have expected after being on edge for so long.  “This isn’t going to last long,” he warns Poe, who smirks knowingly.

 

“I’d be shocked if you did after all that,” Poe replies without moving away, breath teasing over him.  “So forget gentle, Luke.  Take my mouth like I took you last night.”

 

Luke nods, a little surprised, and he knows the first thrust he makes is too tentative, because Poe pushes forward, taking him deeper.  He tightens his hold on Poe’s hair reflexively, and Poe hums approvingly, the vibration enough to have his hips jerking forward, forcing Poe to swallow hard around him.  Poe looks pleased though, so Luke lets go, trusting Poe will stop him if he pushes too hard.

 

Luke can feel himself approaching climax swiftly, and he tries to tug on Poe’s hair, pull him off, but Poe stubbornly keeps his mouth around Luke, tracing his tongue under Luke’s foreskin and making him shout as he spills into Poe’s mouth.  To his astonishment, Poe doesn’t seem to mind, licking him clean and swallowing all his seed.  He hadn’t been coherent enough the first time Poe did this to notice if the other man had done it then as well.

 

“That…” Luke trails off, unclenching his fingers and combing them through Poe’s hair for a moment while he slows his breathing and collects his thoughts.  “You stopped me from tasting it last night.”

 

“It can be overwhelming.  I’m trying to take it slow, be a little more gentle with you than others were to me when I was first learning these things,” Poe explains, his hands tracing gentle patterns up Luke’s thighs. 

 

Luke controls his tone carefully, keeping his hand in Poe’s hair gentle.  “None of your firsts were gentle?”

 

“I didn’t know it could be gentle until I met Iolo,” Poe admits, shrugging in a way that just shreds Luke’s heart.  “He’d fortunately only had one very patient lover before me, and he had taught Iolo everything he knew.  When Iolo figured out how spectacularly skewed my knowledge was, it was like he went on a one man mission to set about fixing it.”

 

Poe looks a little concerned, teeth worrying at his lower lip.  “I’m sorry, does it bother you when I speak of him?  I certainly don’t compare you, so you shouldn’t worry…”

 

Luke tugs Poe upward, the chair creaking ominously, and he catches Poe’s abused lip with his own teeth, halting his worried babbling.  “I don’t worry, and I like knowing you had someone who cared for you,” Luke remarks.  “We’re both basically widowers, and I don’t begrudge the fact that your lover comes up in much more pleasant conversations than mine.”

 

“You have a fascinating view of the world,” Poe remarks, leaning in for another kiss, and the light frame of the chair cracks, dumping them both onto the floor.  Luke laughs helplessly, finding his head cradled in Poe’s hands protectively so it never hit the ground. 

 

“I hope your painting was quite finished, because the chair certainly is,” Luke remarks.

 

“Mmm, and I now am reminded that I meant to ask you for a wash basin in this room,” Poe remarks, holding up his paint smudged hands.  Luke looks down at his body, realizing that dozens of shades of blue are finger smudged along his thighs and hips. 

 

“I take it you saved my eyes for last,” Luke says dryly, and Poe laughs.

 

“They are troublesome to capture,” he agrees.  “Truly beautiful things always are.  Do you want to see it?”

 

Luke accepts Poe’s hand up, spine cracking a little as he stands slowly.  His shoulder at least will bruise, he suspects.  He follows Poe back to the easel, utterly impressed.  Poe certainly seems to have gotten his eyes right this time, though there’s a bright fondness to them that surprises Luke.  There’s also a decided lack of anything other than Luke’s face filling the small canvas which makes him elbow Poe.

 

“Why on earth did you have me strip if you were only painting my face?” Luke complains.

 

“The look on your face,” Poe remarks, pointing to the painted eyes and their soft brightness.  “Also, for the memory of you this way.  I may have painted this as a sort of token for myself, to take with me if I should have to return to Spain shortly.”

 

Luke’s stomach drops, the room suddenly seeming terribly dark.  “You think…”

 

“We shouldn’t dwell on my dark thoughts,” Poe insists, wrapping his arms around Luke and tugging him back against his own body.  Luke lets himself sink into it, taking in the comfort for a long moment, then the dressing gong sounds from somewhere deep within the house.  “And now you should redress so you can go and change for dinner,” Poe laughs, squeezing Luke once more gently before letting go.

 

“Absurd,” Luke grumbles, even as he quickly tugs on his breeches.

 

* * *

 

Poe changes his jacket and washes the paint off his hands quickly before wandering down to the drawing room, not sure if he feels surprised to find Leia waiting there or not.  He had heard Finn, Rey, and BB come in as well – BB hasn’t mastered indoor volume quite yet and had for some reason felt the need to slam her door – so he suspects the news isn’t good.  He pours himself a drink and hands a second one over to Leia.

 

“I feel as though I owe you an apology, Poe,” Leia remarks, voice rough with emotion.  “Perhaps if I had been able to hold myself together better after Han…” she trails off and Poe leans over, squeezing her arm gently.

 

“No one blames you for needing a moment for your own grief, Leia,” Poe reassures her quietly.  “Did you get Lord Netal?”

 

“Yes, along with enough evidence to pin the entire conspiracy at his doorstep once we raided his home,” Leia confirms.  “You’ll find your rebellion in Spain is remarkably well funded thanks to money he laundered through his businesses in Afghanistan.  I’m sorry not to have seen the fund movement sooner, but I still believe our agreement that this rebellion must be quashed is the correct path and will help you lay in ways to undercut that funding.”

 

“Fair enough,” Poe agrees, tracing a fingertip around the edge of his snifter.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

 

“They were tipped off,” Leia replies.  “Or spooked, we’re still learning which.  We apprehended Princess Phasma, but will have little choice but to free and return her to Russia given who she is.  We’re hoping at least to net a substantial bribe for her return.  However, we’re fairly certain Mr. Hux and Ben both fled late last night and boarded a ship bound for Norway.  They’ll probably continue on to Russia from there.”

 

Poe considers the way Hux had regarded him and the poison blade after the duel and decides to regard that as the moment Hux had pegged it was time to flee.  “After the duel,” he pauses, considering.  “Ben’s usefulness here had expired, unless they left him to take the fall.  Perhaps Mr. Hux is more fond of your son that I originally thought.”

 

“Then it seems he was equally fond of Lady Netal, because she abandoned her father sometime during the night, leaving him to take the fall on his own,” Leia remarks.  “Her garden of toxins has been picked clean and the venoms milked from her serpents were gone.  I had thought she would head for their holdings in Afghanistan but...”

 

“She’s headed for Spain,” Poe says, and Leia lifts an eyebrow.  “She’s turned Hux and Ben into assassins in their own right, and you’ve implied they’ll go for Nicolas.  That leaves Isabella.”

 

“You think they still intend to put you on the throne?” Leia asks, sounding skeptical, and Poe chuckles darkly. 

 

“I think she was determined to proceed, regardless of her orders or hope to put anyone on the throne,” he replies.  “She wants the kill Mara never made.  And either I’ll assume the throne and owe her a boon – and I’d be shocked if she doesn’t have ideas about becoming the mistress and right hand to the king – or killing my cousin will punish me for the betrayal.”

 

Leia is silent, so Poe asks the question.  “I assume you’ve already procured my passage?”

 

“Tomorrow morning.  You’re aboard the soonest and swiftest ship I could find,” Leia agrees.  “I’ve arranged a carriage to collect you here at dawn.  I don’t know if you’ll be able to catch her, but you’re the best hope we have for it.”

 

“Indeed,” Poe agrees, draining his glass and setting it aside.  “Excuse me.”

 

“I’m sorry it’s so soon,” Leia calls after him softly, and Poe spares her a nod before climbing back up the stairs.  BB’s still in her room, and he suspects she’ll stay holed up till he comes back down if the slammed door is anything to judge by.  Their lives are about to change, and she’s not good at handling change.

 

Luke’s door is still closed, which, given the amount of paint Poe had smeared on the other man’s body, doesn’t surprise him.  He knocks softly but slips inside without waiting for a response.  Luke is mostly dressed, waistcoat hanging open and cravat loose about his neck, and he looks faintly puzzled when he looks between the hall door and the adjoining door.  Poe is suddenly all too aware that he’s never entered Luke’s room through the hall door.

 

“Bad news then,” Luke remarks, sitting down heavily on the corner of the bed. 

 

“An assassin slipped Leia’s net,” Poe says, not bothering to embellish or soften it, sure that will annoy Luke.  “She’s headed for my cousin, so I have to go.”

 

“When?”

 

“Dawn,” Poe says, hating the way that creases Luke’s face in pain, his eyes closing briefly.  He crosses the room, and Luke latches onto him, burying his face in Poe’s stomach.

 

“I’m not ready for you to go.”  Luke’s whine is half lost in Poe’s shirt, but Poe holds on tighter, not sure what else he can do.  Luke finally manages to let go, eyes suspiciously bright but determined.  “So I have you for tonight.  Should we go down for dinner?”

 

“We’ve got a full house, and before we go down, I suspect we’re needed on the second floor,” Poe says, forcing his messy and complicated emotions back into a box for the time being.  “We’ll get through this, then send them all away, all right?”

 

“Yes,” Luke agrees, and Poe can see Luke steeling himself in much the same way Poe had just done.  He reaches down, carefully buttoning Luke’s waistcoat for him then begins tying his cravat.  “How do you turn dressing me into such a tease?” Luke asks, and Poe chuckles, the sound surprisingly weak and wavering.  “Don’t fall apart on me yet, Poe, I can’t hold this together if you don’t,” Luke scolds him, and Poe nods, carefully tucking the lids back onto his emotions tightly.  The knot in the cravat isn’t perfect, but Poe smooths it down anyway, then nods to Luke.

 

Luke follows him down, finding both Rey and Finn’s rooms empty, fortunately, as Poe knocks gently on BB’s door.  She flings it open, looking wide eyed.  “I’m not packed yet,” she says, and Poe places a hand on her shoulder, steering her back into her room, which is covered in a mess of clothing she’s inherited from Rey.  She goes all too willingly, half collapsing in a chair at the small table in her room.  “I’m supposed to stay with you, I promised,” she whimpers, and Poe lets her tug him into a hard hug.

 

“I always hoped I’d find you a place where you could outshine me,” Poe reminds her gently.  “I’m a good spy and a good soldier.  But you could be a great doctor, Miss Bernadette Blanchard Skywalker.”

 

“I’m supposed to be your ward, not Luke’s,” BB tries sulking.

 

“And I picked Luke,” Poe reminds her, tweaking one of her curls.  “Would you complain if I’d picked a wife instead?”

 

“Yes, because that would be weird,” BB says promptly, rolling her eyes at him.  She eyes Luke, then looks back over at Poe.  “I’m still not wearing a corset.”

 

“I’ll write it into the adoption papers when I make you my ward,” Luke agrees dryly, which makes BB laugh.  “And if it’s all right with you, I’ll pass on the Miss Bernadette.  I prefer BB.”

 

“Yeah, I’d pick him too,” BB informs Poe cheerfully, finally letting go of her stranglehold around his waist.  “You gonna send us all packing so you can have goodbye time with your husband?” she asks, and Poe shakes his head, offering her his arm.

 

“How about family dinner first?”

 

* * *

 

Dinner is a curiously bright and buoyant affair, with Finn and Rey doing a great deal to help keep spirits lifted.  Mercifully, no one stays for dessert or drinks, so Poe walks Finn, Rey, and BB out to the carriage.  Luke hangs back with Leia, watching his wards and his niece take turns hugging Poe.

 

“You know he’s probably instructing them on taking care of us,” Leia remarks, making Luke chuckle.  “I’m sending my best people with him, Luke, I owe you both that much.  I’ll get him back here in one piece.”

 

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep,” Luke replies, but hugs her anyway.  “Your birdies, they’ll be able to get letters between us?”

 

“Yes,” Leia agrees, giving Luke a wry smile.  “You could come help me, Luke.  I know from experience how helpful staying busy can be.”  Han had served in several campaigns when he and Leia were first married, Luke recalls.

 

“I may take you up on that,” Luke agrees, feeling his heart stutter as he watches Finn hug Poe tightly, but Finn’s dark eyes clearly stay watching him over Poe’s shoulder.  Poe’s definitely tasking them with keeping an eye on him.  Leia claps his shoulder reassuringly, then leaves to say her own goodbyes.

 

Whatever she says to Poe clearly surprises him, though he looks absurdly pleased too.  He rejoins Luke, and Luke quirks a questioning eyebrow at him.  “She expects me to return and ascend even higher in the League,” Poe says.  He’s looked quite pleased with his commission as a League Agent since Leia told them about it earlier in the evening.  Luke knows that means Leia jumped him over the usual Apprentice’s rank new League members hold for a year or two.  She holds Poe in incredibly high regard.  “And if I can manage a position that holds me in England, she’ll make sure the few travels I undertake for them include you.”

 

“Commander,” Mr. Threep greets them as they reenter the house.  “We’ve packed your trunks and laid out travel clothes for you.  It has been a privilege to have you as our guest.”

 

Artie makes a little throat clearing noise, and Mr. Threep jumps, suddenly backtracking.  “Well, you are no longer a guest. Really, family now, I suppose, I… ouch!”  Artie, it seems, has given up on hoping for politeness from the butler and digs an elbow into his side.  “Yes, goodnight,” Mr. Threep concludes finally, then scrambles off toward the servant’s stair.

 

Artie sighs, his mustache twitching terribly, then offers Poe a hand.  “Commander, god speed.  I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

 

Poe shakes his hand, but before he’s even turned away from Luke’s valet, Miss Oola presses a quick kiss to his cheek then flutters off ahead of Artie, looking terrified by her own boldness.  Poe glares at Luke when he snickers.  “Your staff is charming,” Poe insists, and Luke laughs harder.

 

“My staff’s as cracked as I am,” Luke retorts.  Mrs. Tekka, having just come up from the kitchen, gives Luke a pointed glare, and he stills, nodding to her. 

 

“Commander, remember our discussion, and we’ll expect to see you at the estate soon,” Mrs. Tekka says, offering him a no-nonsense handshake before departing herself.  Poe looks a little concerned as he watches her walk away. 

 

"What did she do that she had to leave Norway for?” Poe asks, and Luke frowns.

 

“No clue, there’s no record of her before she arrived in England,” he replies.  “I found records of her brother there, Larson Tekka, but no records for Lara.  But knowing her, probably chopped a man’s fingers off for trying to get overly friendly with her.  Artie stopped her before it came to that with a gentleman a few years back, but the cleaver got close.”

 

“Uh huh,” Poe’s eyes widen a little further, the corners of his lips turning up.  “Your staff is the best.”

 

“I really don’t want to discuss my misfit staff when I’ve finally got you to myself,” Luke remarks, a little surprised how sharp his tone comes out.  Poe tugs him in quickly, holding on a little too tightly.  Luke buries his face in Poe’s shoulder, content to hold on and just be held for a while. 

 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Poe whispers finally, reaching in and tucking a wisp of Luke’s hair behind his ear.  “I need to make love to you and spend as much time as possible memorizing every last bit of you before I go.”

 

Luke lets Poe lead him upstairs, then pauses on the landing, giving Poe a soft smile.  “You kissed me here,” he remarks, and Poe laughs.

 

“I was absurdly drunk, I have no clue what I was thinking,” Poe replies.  “I even thought for a moment that you kissed me back.”

 

“I did,” Luke agrees, letting Poe tug him in by his cravat, mirroring the actions of their first kiss.  “I wanted you then, I just wasn’t willing to let go of some crazy notions about damnation.”

 

“So you don’t believe you’re damned any longer?” Poe asks curiously. 

 

“This isn’t damnation,” Luke replies.  “And I certainly wouldn’t repent a single moment of it.”  Poe leans in and kisses him.  The feeling of something terrifyingly like history echoes through him, as though this moment will be repeated over and over for decades to come.  Luke’s not sure if it’s wishful thinking or premonition.

 

“Leia said she’ll make sure letters get to you and that you can write to me,” Luke tells Poe.

 

“I’ll send them back in packs of three,” Poe decides, something altogether wicked glinting in his eyes.  “One for BB, one for my good friend Lord Skywalker…”

 

“Good friend?” Luke can’t help remarking dryly.

 

“…and one for my English rose,” Poe concludes, and Luke sighs.

 

“I’m going to regret every last one of those, aren’t I?” he asks, and Poe’s answering grin is filthy.

 

“I give good love letter,” Poe remarks, blinking suddenly.  “Lord, who will they think you’re handing them off to, Mrs. Tekka or Miss Oola?  That’s terrifying.  Maybe they’ll believe its Leia.  I could live with that.”

 

“I’m starting the rumor it’s Mrs. Tekka,” Luke replies.  “Just to watch you pay for it if-,” he chokes the word down. “When you return.”

 

“When,” Poe agrees firmly, leading Luke into the bedroom.  “Leia’s sending good people with me, Luke.  I’m safer with her for an ally than I have ever been before in my life.  I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Luke nods, not trusting his voice enough to speak, and instead lets Poe take charge of them both.  They don’t talk much, but Poe seems determined to make good on his promise to memorize Luke’s body.  He kisses every bit of Luke, down to his fingertips, and Luke returns the favor, both of them touching and tasting every last inch they can find until they come back together and just slowly slide their bodies together.  Poe refuses to give in when Luke tries to push toward something rough, holding him too gently and it nearly breaks Luke’s heart to give in and stopper up his desperation each time. 

 

After what feels like hours, Poe finally reaches down, wrapping his fingers around both of them and it barely takes a stroke to set off the fire that’s been smoldering there for too long. Luke shudders through his orgasm, eyes trying to close in exhausted pleasure, but he stubbornly forces them open, refusing to give in to sleep even though it beckons him.

 

“Perhaps before I come back, you can come to me in Spain,” Poe suggests into the heavy silence between them.  His fingers are tangled in Luke’s hair, gently soothing him and watching him with the same determination to banish sleep.  “I can teach you all the dirty words in Spanish and nothing practical.”

 

Luke laughs in spite of his sadness, settling his face against the palm of his hand.  “Perhaps we’ll take a few days holiday down to Malaga, the beaches along the Mediterranean Sea are beautiful,” Poe continues.  “I can show you the place where my father used to take my mother and I to picnic during the summers.  She loved the ocean, loved to make up stories about sprouting wings and flying to the point where the sky met the sea.  My father would always try to explain to her that Africa was across the sea long before you reached the sky, but she wouldn’t let him bring logic into her stories.”

 

Luke wants to ask about Poe’s parents but they’re both already too soft with sadness, so he tucks it away for when Poe returns.  “The Alhambra, you would love the lions,” Poe remarks, and Luke turns his head into the pillow, understanding suddenly that Poe won’t sleep tonight.  “The enormous fort above the city of Granada is full of every conceivable style of Muslim and Christian art, all mashed together into something new and strange.  You can easily spend days just wandering the grounds, but there’s a pool, with these stone lions…”

 

Luke drifts off to sleep as Poe describes memories of his mother and him ignoring his father’s caution and climbing up onto the walls of the fort, of her hair escaping it pins as the wind whipped so hard it nearly pushed them down from their perch, and of resting against sun warmed lions once the rush of wind had finally driven them back down from the wall where they’d almost believed they could fly off in pursuit of her imagined point where sky met sea.

 

* * *

 

Poe can’t bring himself to wake Luke when he dresses in his travelling clothes in the darkest hours of the morning just before dawn.  He goes down to the painting room, using his belt knife to cut the small image he’d painted the day before from its wooden frame, then gently rolls the canvas so the image can be tucked into the pocket inside his jacket.  He places another small image on the easel, hoping Luke will find it soon enough, then carefully closes the salon door behind him.

 

Miss Oola stands in the hall, up before the entire household as usual, looking a little surprised to see only him.  “Would you do me a favor,” Poe asks, and he sees understanding cross her face.  He pulls out the letters he’d written the night before, pen scratching softly as he wrote in between moments of watching Luke sleep, handing them over to her.  “I wanted to say goodbye, but I won’t leave if I do it in person,” he admits, swallowing around a hard lump in his throat.

 

She nods, looking all too understanding, and tucks them away in her apron pocket.  She squeezes Poe’s arm gently, leaving him alone in the dark hallway to pull himself together once more.

 

His bags and trunk are waiting at the front door, and just outside, he finds Leia’s carriage waiting.  He lifts an eyebrow, spotting Wexley first.  His overcoat is just a bit too large, and Poe catalogs a short sword and some sort of revolver beneath the folds of the coat.  “You’re going to go abroad with me?” he asks, and the man scowls at him.

 

“I’m not just a cook,” he replies simply.  “I’ll have your back.”  Poe grins, clasping hands with the man then helping him load Poe’s luggage onto the carriage.  In the carriage, he gets a second surprise.

 

“Good morning, Commander,” Miss Atsy greets him, sniffing dismissively at his surprise.  She looks nothing like he’s become accustomed to seeing, her black uniform cast aside for a lady’s frock of ivory and pink.  “Honestly, if you’re hunting down a lady, you’re going to need our help.  And since she refuses to marry, Lady Solo cannot send Miss Calrissian anywhere without a chaperone.”

 

“I had no intention of marrying this season anyway,” Karé adds, winking at him.  Unlike Miss Atsy, her clothes are plainer than usual.  “My father is quite relieved to shuffle me off to the continent.   Apparently _someone_ enlightened him that my sister and I are not so quiet and empty headed as we have lead him to believe, and he’s turned us over to Lady Leia to make us useful to Queen and Country.  He plans to tell the ton I’ll be getting a better education so I might return a much more proper lady next season, when I think it might suit me to marry, simply because I’m quite ready for a married lady’s freedoms. Though I admit, I am a bit put out about one thing, _Duque Dameron_.  It seems you’re no common soldier.  I might have made a rather respectable match of you after all.”

 

“Still not rich,” he promises her, even as Miss Atsy appears to despair of them both.  “Lord save us all, I can already see the trouble we’re going to get into,” Poe grumbles, but he can feel himself smiling as he settles back in his seat. 

 

The carriage starts into motion, and he looks back at the house one last time, eyes drawn up to Luke’s bedroom window, still dark and shuttered.   He almost stops the carriage, to run back and claim one last kiss before departing, but he forces himself to sit back, forcing a wan smile when he sees Miss Atsy’s sympathetic look.

 

“One more stop,” Karé remarks when they pull around a familiar safe house and then come to a stop in front of the stable house.  Poe frowns as Bastian hurries out, tossing a rucksack up to Wexley and then swinging into the carriage with a reckless grin.

 

“BB says you might be needin’ a street wise set of hands,” he remarks.  “Miss Atsy says she’ll learn me Spanish on the boat.”

 

“Teach you, and I suspect may have to teach you a good deal of English while I’m at it,” Miss Atsy remarks tartly.    

 

It’s without a doubt the oddest, most rag-tag group Poe’s ever taken command of, but for some reason, it settles him in his skin.  “All right,” he says, suddenly confident in his ability to pull off this mission.  “Let’s talk about Lady Netal.”


	12. Chapter 12

**From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to Lord Luke Skywalker, late July 1865**

_  
_

_…the lady unfortunately made port a good ten miles up the coast, her tide and wind bringing her ship into the city a full day before we made land.  The good news is that her lead on us has not extended any, and as soon as we made land, I was able to dispatch riders to warn my cousin straight away.  She’ll not have been able to outpace them, so now a longer game between us begins._

_  
_

_Sadly, the bad news is that it seems we’ve arrived too late.  We departed the boat and almost immediately learned that pockets of outright rebellion have already begun.  My fleet’s commission fortunately has passed to my second, and I have been ordered to continue the hunt for ‘La Víbora’…_

**  
**

**From a letter from BB Skywalker to Commander Dameron, late July 1865**

_  
_

_…We’ve agreed on Uncle Luke for now, as ~~both us~~ we both find the idea of me calling him ‘father’ all too strange. _

_  
_

_Miss Rey ~~int~~ ~~ist~~ insists on making me write this in the new script she has ~~tou~~ taught me, so I apologize if it is ~~ille~~ ~~illi~~ unreadable. She wants me to use proper language too.  I think my language is proper enough.  Mr. Finn is much more fun.  He lets me read his ~~ano~~ anatomy books…_

_  
_

**From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to his ‘English Rose’, August 1865**

_  
_

_…I long to taste your mouth again, to linger at your side and simply talk of the world.  I often feel desperate for your counsel, your sharp mind.  Perhaps it is strange to become so dependent on something I enjoyed for all too short a time, but there you have it.  I am desperate to again have your mouth and your mind with me in equal measure. Como te extraño, mi amor, how I miss you…_

_  
_

“Christ, Poe, what the hell are you writing?” Wexley asks, whooping with laughter as Poe’s cheeks turn even redder.

  


“Shut up, Snap,” Atsy throws an apple at the man from where she keeps watch at the window.  “The man’s allowed to write sweet words to his English Rose without your commentary!”

  


“Some of us are trying to sleep,” Karé grumbles, tugging her ragged hat down further over her face.  She’s a far cry from the gentile lady now – curls bleached, dark skin smudged in ten kinds of dirt, and her clothes those of a peasant.  She’s made no secret of how eager she is for their impending arrival in Grenada and her next assignment in lady’s gowns, but she’s learned and grown in leaps and bounds Poe never could have predicted. 

  


Poe’s eager to show them all his home, but homesick for Luke, who he wishes were also going to be waiting in Grenada.

  


Bastian can sleep through anything – Snap’s commentary, Karé’s complaints, and the rebellion’s gunfire just outside the door – without so much as a twitch.

  


* * *

**  
**

**From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to BB Skywalker, early September 1865**

_  
_

_…As you have as yet to disclose the actual date of your birth to me, largely because you and I both know you lied to me at our first meeting but continue to ignore that fact, I am sending the enclosed as a birthday gift, commemorating the anniversary of our pact to stick together.  I miss you terribly, but am with you every day in thought, as we have promised.  I am so proud of you, and hope this will allow you to continue your studies without pilfering any further texts from Mr. Finn._

_  
_

_Yours, Hada Madrina…_

_  
_

**From a decoded report of the League Agent known as ‘ _Mirlo’_ to League General ‘Organa’, late September 1865**

_  
_

_…‘La Víbora’ continues to stay a step ahead of us. While I agree that her last attempt on ‘La Reina’ was perhaps a little too close, but the wound has healed cleanly with only a small scar to show for my troubles.  Her new apprentice had none of her skill with poisons, so I am fortunate it seems…_

_  
_

Luke pales, handing the decoded message over to Rey.  “Uncle Luke?” she asks, reaching for his hand.

  


“I think perhaps the missives from Agent _Mirlo_ should go in your pile,” he tells her, squeezing her hand gently, then rising, nodding to Leia.  “Excuse me, I’m going to stretch my legs.  We’ve been at this for quite a while,” he adds, smile crooked.

  


Leia watches her brother disappear out to the garden, and Rey’s mouth turns down as she reads what her uncle had finished decoding.  “This is from Poe, isn’t it?” she asks, and Leia’s smile is just as crooked as Luke’s.

  


“Perhaps you should make sure that you or I handle the messages from _Mirlo_ ,” Leia says in lieu of an answer.

  


* * *

  


**From a letter from his ‘English Rose’ to Commander Poe Dameron, early October 1865**

_  
_

_… in the face of knowing how close I came to losing you, I would certainly take back certain teasing promises regarding your ‘virtue’ if it meant you could be in my bed beside me now.  I’d honestly give anything for such a wonder. I miss you so terribly, Poe._

_  
_

_But I cannot write to you in good faith without providing something warm, a token of my love, so I offer the following – you have been in my dreams the past few nights.  Hardly a novelty, my dearest, but these have been so strange.  I dream of us dancing in a room devoid of music or ballroom crowds, just a room filled with floating candles, where the walls are made of mirrors, reflecting the two of us, embracing as we dance, over and over, hundreds of copies of us, all looking quite distractedly in love._

_  
_

_In the insomnia that inevitably follows such disquieting dreams, I found myself in your art room one evening, and I found the self-portrait you left me.  I confess I had avoided the room till now, but suspect I will find myself there often now.  The portrait is a token, I assume, in exchange for the one you painted of me which you undoubtedly took with you.  It’s a fair likeness, though I think you made your hair tamer than it ought to be…_

_  
_

**From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to Lord Luke Skywalker, late October 1865**

  


… _All Hallows Eve traditions have somehow made it from your Irish isles to this town in northern Spain we are currently holed up in, and I have to confess, I find the ghastly grinning gourds in the windows charming.  None of my companions share much of my interest, but you and I know a great deal about the unquiet dead and chasing them from our doorsteps.  Bastian and I took it upon ourselves to fashion leering faces in the gourds.  I confess, I left mine at the gate by the cemetery de la catedral and it has in some small measure helped to quiet the past even further for me…_

**  
**

**From a damaged coded message to League Spymaster ‘Organa’, October 1865**

_  
_

_… [damaged section] -es believe he uses the code name ‘Kylo Ren’ these days.  He continues deeper into Russia… [damaged section] parted ways and doubles back now…  [damaged section] believe this ‘Ubiytsa Zvezed’ will mirror the mission of ‘La Víb-… [damaged section]_

  


“I brought it to you first.  Is it Poe?”

  


Luke considers the scrap and the translation, frowning.  “I’d certainly believe it to be his hand, or a damn good imitation,” he agrees.  “What happened to this decoding here?  It looks like nonsense. Ubiytsa Zvezed?”

  


“Killer of Stars,” BB pipes up, looking up her work.  Finn sets aside the anatomical drawing they’ve been pouring over, looking to her.  “I speak a fair bit of Russian,” she reminds them, hopping up and looking at the scrap.  “It’s a code name, for an assassin.  Poe and I heard it once, in a pub in Whitechapel this summer.  I was pretty sure it was one of the conspirators.”

  


“Hux,” Leia says, sounding certain.  “He’d have a coded name, whereas Ben would be the one to recently gain one.”

  


“So Ben is working under the name Kylo Ren?” Luke asks quietly.  He’s decoded the reports, he knows the name as someone credited with a number of murders along the Russian/Afghan border. 

  


“Mirroring the mission,” BB reads, frowning.  “This bit here is probably ‘La Vibora’, the code name they gave Lady Netal.  Does he mean Hux is returning to England to make an attempt on the queen?”

  


The room is suddenly in motion, swirling around Luke, and he smiles faintly at the little scrap of paper.  Hundreds of miles away, fighting to save another queen, but Poe likely just saved Victoria too.

  


* * *

  


**From a missive from Commander Poe Dameron to his ‘English Rose’, November 1865**

_  
_

_…I imagine running my fingertips along your face and burying my hands in your hair.  I am so weary that I would find more comfort in being simply wrapped up in your arms, taking a quiet night’s rest than any promises of less virtuous assignations that may exist between us.  That isn’t to say that I won’t likely try to sweep you off your feet and into a kiss the moment I see you again.  Perhaps I should take some care to arrange some privacy for us when such an occasion should occur…_

**  
**

**From a letter from Miss BB Skywalker to Commander Poe Dameron, late November 1865**

_  
_

_…so it seems that no matter how many times I ask, I am still Miss Bernadette to the young man.  I’ve informed Artie he should send his son back to boarding school post haste because clearly he has missed a course or two on manners and respect, but it seems that being all of sixteen now qualifies Artie Jr. to enter the Constable’s Academy this spring -- that seems terribly young to become a constable, even if does take two years to complete his training._

_  
_

_He makes me feel I am terribly old for thirteen (I just had a birthday, by the way.  When you return, I shall give Uncle Luke permission to give you the exact date.)   Or perhaps I just find him to be terribly young for someone who is supposedly sixteen.  I’ll be glad when he leaves and I am again just ‘BB’ to all of my acquaintance. The only good thing to come of this nuisance hanging around is that he snuck me into the coroner’s office.  Did you know there is an entire practice of medicine dedicated to discovering how people died?_

_  
_

_I am supposed to be writing of this to tell you that Uncle Luke is terribly disappointed in me for being a part of this breaking and entering escapade, but I feel you will understand that in the name of scientific discovery sometimes one must view the rules as optional…_

_  
_

**From a coded message from League General ‘Organa’ to Agent ‘ _Mirlo’_ , early December 1865**

_…awarded you a rank of Spy Master in our League, and again, you have my gratitude.  On the mirror matter, I also convey news.  You should consider a tour of The Alczar in the barber’s town, I’d recommend staying in the Judaria of Santa Cruz…_

 

  


“Seriously, I firmly think she enjoys getting to be cagey.  She could have just said, hey, a bunch of Russian rebels are hiding out in the Jewish neighborhood in Seville,” Atsy complains to Poe as she ties the last fellow’s hands behind his back.  She grins widely at a local woman who still hold her cast iron pan like a weapon.  “It’ll be a piece of cake, because the locals hate these foreign troublemakers more than we do,” she continues.  The men in the hut are all out cold thanks to half a dozen local women who had been all too willing to see Netal’s men removed from their lives.  Atsy’s reports indicate the men had taken liberties with several young women and a young man from the community.

  


“Boss, you sure we can’t just slit their throats?” Karé asks, but Poe isn’t really listening to either of them, studying the clippings and maps Lady Netal has left behind on her desk.  It’s taken a lot longer to settle his breathing after the fight than he would like, but fortunately only Snap seems to have noticed and the minutes of quiet study have helped quiet his ragged gasps.

  


“Well, we don’t actually need prisoners,” Poe replies finally, smiling grimly.  “I know where she’s headed and what she’s planning.  But we are men and women of honor, Atsy.  Hand the scum over to the local magistrate.”

  


“Rumor has it the punishment in this neighborhood for interference is castration, boss,” Snap tosses out, grinning wolfishly.  “Seems harsher than just sending them straight to her majesty’s prisons in the city where they’ll end up afterward to face charges of treason, boss.”

  


“How about that?” Poe quips back, driving his knife into the mark Netal has made on the map.  “Let’s head for Madrid.  We’ve got her this time.”

  


* * *

  


  **From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to Lord Luke Skywalker, late December 1865:**

  


… _I confess, I had hoped to return to England before Christmas, and while I have come to admire and enjoy my compatriots, I wanted to be with all of you.  I’ve enclosed a necklace for BB, please handle its placement on the tree for me.  She’ll probably figure out its secret compartment quite easily, but if not, the drawing also enclosed should help her with it.  Your gift I have entrusted to Leia, as I have no doubt you would open it immediately._

_  
_

_The rebellion is firmly in hand, all but quashed, but ‘La Víbora’ is still closing in on the queen.  I am writing this letter because it does seem we’ve finally managed to get ahead of her, but my plan is dangerous.  I am entrusting you with four other letters in this packet.  Please convey the first two to BB and my English Rose.  The other two I trust you will keep sealed.  If I should die, please deliver them to the pair.  If I succeed, burn without opening._

_  
_

_Happy Christmas, Luke, and all the best to your entire family._

_  
_

_Yours, Etc…_

**  
**

**From a letter from Commander Poe Dameron to his ‘English Rose’ to be opened in the event of his death:**

_  
_

_…I leave behind no regrets, because I know I am loved by you.  You are the truest and most beautiful person I have ever known in my life, and I am proud to call myself your husband, even if we were never given a moment in this life to make such a vow to each other.  Please find happiness again, my love, and do not dwell in despair.  You have not had enough happiness in your life, and you deserve a thousand years of absolute delight.  If I could have found a way to give them to you and be at your side…_

_  
_

The church is cold and dark, but Reverend Kenobi can still recognize Luke’s form, sitting with stooped shoulders in the first pew.  Any other parishioner he would leave to silent prayer, but he knows Luke isn’t praying.

  


He slides into the pew, taking the folded paper Luke offers him, reading the inscription and noting the broken seal.  “Is he…”

  


“No,” Luke says quickly, shaking his head.  “I should not have opened it.  But you know me, Ben.”

  


“Indeed,” the minister agrees, sighing heavily and tucking the letter into his coat pocket.  “And just like when you were a lad, you dwell too much in the melancholy sometimes, Luke.  I will return it if the worst should happen, but I will burn it if he should return.  Take heart and have faith.  He may be in danger, but he undertakes danger during the days of Christmastime. No better time for a miracle.”

  


“Would it be…” Luke trails off, looking over to Kenobi and clearly struggling with the question he wants to ask.  “Would it be too blasphemous for me to pray for his safe return?”

  


Kenobi claps his shoulder, smiling softly.  “Luke, I ask God for his safe return every night.”

  


* * *

  


No letters arrive for any of the Skywalkers or Lady Solo in January.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

Queen Isabella publicly celebrates Twelfth Night at the Cathedral every year, then goes into quiet meditation for the closing of the Christmas season on her own in a small chapel.  It’s a poorly kept secret that she spends the day in quiet solitude, but her guards insist she change the chapel every year and they stand watch outside the building.  Poe’s always believed the queen hopes to have an Epiphany vision sent from God.  He may be right, not that she’d ever confide such a thing to him, but it was easy enough for him to learn the location, so he has no doubt Lady Netal will arrive here soon enough as well.

 

He crouches in the cold choir loft, pistol in hand, watching his cousin as she approaches the altar.  They haven’t been this physically close in four years, and it’s only being allowed because she doesn’t know he’s here.  She looks like she’s aged over a decade in the past four years, the strain of holding the country together written into the lines of her face.  He’d almost feel sorry for her if he hadn’t outgrown foolish notions such as pity for monarchs.

 

She’s silent and praying below him for half an hour before he hears the creak of footsteps on the wooden floors of the church below.  Light, delicate, definitely a woman, Poe decides, carefully swinging out to the edge of the loft where he has footholds and an easy handhold to swing down if he need it.

 

The queen is lost in quiet prayer, unmoving even as the woman in a strangely veiled wimple and simple garb moves between two pews.  The disguise is good; she could be a nun, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s somehow slipped through the guards all around the chapel, including Poe’s team, and the heavy weight tugging her robes down more on the right hand side than the left.  The weight of a concealed weapon.

 

Poe hesitates.  He could simply take the shot from here, but he really wants Netal alive.  Her intel could be invaluable.  He swings down as quietly as possible, but still ends up gun to gun with Lady Netal.  “Time to give up, Bazine,” he says, grinning with a carelessness he doesn’t actually feel.  “I’ll escort you back to England.  I hear the Tower looks lovely in the snow.”

 

“You’re a fool, Dameron,” she hisses, but it lacks conviction.  Her face is drawn and thin, and Poe can clock the weakness in her shoulder.  Maybe Karé had hit her in the firefight a few weeks back after all.   “You could have been king.”

 

“Look around you,” he laughs.  “The rebellion limped its way through a mere half a year of pathetic attempts at chaos which were promptly quelled.  You never had a chance.  Turn yourself in, live to fight another day.”

 

“That’s exactly what I suspect Lady Solo said to Mara Jade,” Netal grimaces.  “And you know what?  Maybe Mara had the right idea all along.”

 

Poe fires, striking her right between the ribs, before she has a chance to do much more than turn toward the queen.  He crosses to her promptly, pushing her revolver away with the toe of his boot and leaning down to check her.  Blood is already foaming at her lips, and her lungs rattle under the weight of her fading breaths.  She’s all but dead.

 

“Was it arrogance?” she asks, chuckling and spitting out blood so it spatters the leg of his uniform pants.  She grabs for his hand, and perhaps foolishly, he lets her take hold.

 

“Arrogance?” Poe asks, and she laughs harder.

 

“You said it killed Mara,” she reminds him.  “Did it kill me too?”

 

“Pride,” he replies.  “Your pride killed you.”

 

“Just like it will kill your queen someday,” she whispers, and she laughs again, even as the blood chokes her.  She goes still with a final shudder.

 

Poe stands slowly, a little disappointed, and turns to face his queen.  “We heard you’d been busy,” she says slowly, looking down her nose at him.  “I suppose our thanks for your actions are once again in order.”

 

“No need to remind me, your majesty,” Poe says acidly.  “There will never be royal thanks for a man like me.”

 

Isabella regards him for a long moment, something shrewd and calculating in her eyes.  “Our royal sister Victoria’s people speak so very highly of you,” she says at last.  “And it is clear you are an asset to us abroad but a liability at home.  Name the posting, and so long as it is abroad, we will give it you.”

 

Poe’s heart nearly climbs into his throat at the offer.  “Ambassador,” he manages to say at last.  “To England.  Honorable retirement from my military commission and appointment to the ambassador’s seat in England.”

 

“Agreed,” she nods, eyes flickering with pleasure, probably at her own prescience.  It had been a fairly predictable request.  “And when you serve the League, and yes, I know you have been appointed to their ranks, I trust you will also remember my interests.” 

 

Interesting, Poe thinks, drawing a shaky breath, that she’d dropped the royal plurals.  “I shall, of course, give great weight to the interests of Spain.” The distinction clearly isn’t lost on his cousin.

 

“Rumors have reached us about a supposed affair you have been conducting with a common maid in an English lord’s household.  Just remember that we will send the papacy for you should you ever sully a woman’s soul by tying it to one such as yours,” she sneers at him, and he bows, not deep enough to be proper, but low enough that she can’t take real offense.

 

“Your majesty, you needn’t worry about any such thing,” he promises, barely repressing a smirk.  “I’ll be sure to collect my commissions from the Council of State at _Palacio de los Consejos_ and depart within the week.  I won’t overstay my welcome.”

 

His cousin nods her head, lips curling in an all too satisfied way.  It isn’t lost on him that for once in his life, his desires are best aligned with what she is willing to allow him.  It’s not gratifying or pleasant, but it is enough, Poe decides.  And to be returning to Luke… his feet carry him from the chapel with surprising swiftness.

 

* * *

 

January takes Leia abroad to Denmark on rumors of Kylo Ren’s presence, which stalls up communication terribly.  Luke has no word from Poe, and when he writes to Leia of his concerns, she sends back a brief missive insisting that if something terrible had happened to Poe, she would have heard about it, but the reassurance falls flat.  By the first of February, Luke feels about as cold and grey as the weather.

 

Finn and Rey decide quite suddenly to take BB away with them on the inspection of Tattooine House and the estate there, and Luke agrees easily enough that his adopted daughter should see the grounds that will be hers to live on or sell for dowry as she pleases.  He suspects his own grey mood must be weighing more heavily on BB than she’s been letting on, and Finn and Rey wish to spare her the effort for a little while at least.  When she gives him a hug and a bright smile before they depart, looking a little bit like she’s up to something, he lets it slide.  It’ll be good for Rey and Finn if she is planning a bit of mischief.  He tells himself he’s content to have the quiet of the estate restored for a few weeks at least.  Artie’s mustache bristles out with unspoken disapproval, but he leaves Luke to his solitude.

 

To his great surprise, on the third day following their departure, there’s suddenly a great flurry of activity, and his staff are all bustling about, as though they are attempting to do several days’ worth of work all at once.

 

“Are we expecting company?” Luke asks Artie when he nearly trips over the massive amount of firewood Miss Oola is carefully laying out in each room.  “Or a considerable storm?”

 

“A storm, yes,” Artie says, sounding almost inspired and looking twice as guilty, which has Luke giving him a skeptical look.  “I’m so sorry, sir.  Mr. Threep got his hands on the Farmer’s Almanac again.”

 

“We banned that thing for a reason,” Luke scowls, but Artie actually seems to ignore him, vanishing into the parlor hastily. 

 

Luke decides he doesn’t have the patience to try wrangling sanity back into his staff and discreetly hides in his study.  The books are overdue anyway, and his gray mood certainly can’t be worsened by accounting. 

 

He works until it grows dark, frowning as he realizes the dinner gong hasn’t rung yet, though he’s fairly certain he’d requested it for nearly half an hour ago if the clock is correct.  He emerges from his study, finding the mail where Artie left it just outside in the darkened hall next to a single flickering lantern.  The house seems all too quiet and still, as though it sits empty.  “Artie?” he calls out, but the house remains quiet.

 

He glances down at the mail in his hand, the top piece seeming odd.  He moves closer to the lamplight, fishing his spectacles back out of his waistcoat pocket and peers down at it.  It’s a flirtation card, something he vaguely recognizes from Rey’s all too short season in London, with a strange little caricature of a delicate lady’s fan, half opened, resting against a small spray of roses.  The elegant curling print next to the drawing reads:

 

                              Might I dare, I fain would ask,

                              That you would give me word or sign,

                              How I my true love might declare,

                              And learn my fate at Cupid’s shrine.

 

There’s no message or signature, which is unusual.  He tucks it into his pocket, a little amused, then thumbs through the rest of the stack, finding nothing urgent or unexpected, so he sets it down by the lamp, continuing to the parlor.  The table is empty, only a single lamp in here as well, and to his surprise, Luke finds another flirtation card resting on the table next to it.

 

“Hello?” he calls out, more than a little confused.  “Is someone here?”

 

The house is silent.

 

He picks up the card, smiling reluctantly.  This one has a drawing of two terribly ugly frogs, walking upright on their hind legs with their arms – their front legs, Luke corrects himself, not wanting to anthropomorphize the little creatures even if the artist did – linked, much as a lady would walk with a gentleman.  The text on this one is even more florid:

 

                              Two souls with but a single thought

                              Two hearts that beat as one.

 

But below the lines, a blocky hand has written in a single word.  “Come.” Luke pulls out the first card, checking it for any writing he might have missed, but the card is blank.

 

“Artie?” he tries calling out again, then heads down the servant’s stair to the kitchen.  “Mrs. Tekka?”

 

The kitchen is cold and dark, a single lamp next on the cutting counter, with another flirtation card set beside it.  “What on earth?” Luke mutters, wondering where this absurd joke is going to lead.  This one is much simpler, a scrolling red border with the verse set plainly inside:

 

                              My heart to you is given,

                              Oh, do give yours to me.

                              We’ll lock them up together,

                              And throw away the key.

 

Luke looks closer and realizes the border is in fact little interlocked keys.  It would be adorable, if it weren’t so damned strange.  The block handwriting is here as well, but the word written on the card simply reads, “And”.

 

Luke considers the house, thinking about where he should go next.  He climbs the stairs, heading for the library.  There’s a lamp on the side board, but the bottles are all capped, indicating Artie never even set drinks for before dinner.  “Hello?” Luke calls out, though he doesn’t expect a reply this time, already picking up the next flirtation card.

 

This one features a thin and bearded gentleman and a short lady in the bottom corner, but the gentleman gives Luke a little pause.  It looks a little like Wedge.  After Poe’s departure, Luke had had to set aside his advances more than once.  But the card’s verse is awfully romantic, where Wedge had been less subtle, more direct and plain about his intentions.

 

                              Your eyes resemble the stars above you

                              I shall be miserable if I cannot love you.

 

It’s a terrible lack of a rhyme, Luke decides, but the sweep of flowers and stars across top corner is actually lovely.  The block letters this time spell out the word, “Find.”

 

Luke steps back into the foyer, finding a lamp on the second floor landing is lit now.  He pauses, certain it wasn’t lit when he came through the foyer on his way to the library.  “Who’s there?” he calls up, but is greeted by silence. 

 

The stairs creak under his feet, and Luke thinks he hears a door creak just down the hall – toward the west wing of the house and his room.  He scoops up the card and the lamp, examining it as he continues down the hall to pursue the sound. 

 

                              Your coral lips were made to kiss, **_sir_**

                              I stoutly will maintain;

                              And dare you say my lovely ~~miss~~ **_mister_**

                              That aught was made in vain?

 

The correction, adding sir and changing miss to mister (and Luke appreciates the change in the first line being made for the sake of the rhyme) and the scrawled word “me” beside the drawing of a couple kissing are all in an all too familiar hand, and Luke feels his breath go shallow. 

 

“Come and find me,” he murmurs, heart hammering against his ribs hopefully, tucking away the card and hurrying toward his bedroom at the furthest end of the corridor, where the door sits ever so slightly open, the glow of the fireplace seeping out into the dark hallway.  “Poe?”

 

He swings the door open, scarcely able to believe his own eyes.  He feels frozen, feet nailed to the ground for all too long of a moment, then suddenly he’s moving, burying his face in Poe’s neck.  “God, I’ve missed you,” Poe murmurs, clinging just as tightly to Luke as Luke clings to him. 

 

“What is all this nonsense, teasing me when you’ve just come home?” Luke demands.  He would try to emphasize it with a punch to Poe’s arm or something of the sort, but he can’t bring himself to break the embrace.

 

“I confess, I planned this before I arrived today and learned that my letters after Epiphany must have been lost,” Poe admits.  “I sent word ahead a few days ago to Finn that I intended to surprise you and indicating that he and Rey should take BB to Leia’s estate for a few days.  Upon arriving, I learned they took her on their trip north.  I guess they didn’t think anything of how long I’d been out of touch, or thought I still intended to surprise you in spite of it.  I sent word to Artie as well, to help plan this and send your staff on a small holiday, but when I arrived this afternoon and he told me how long it had been since you’d had word, I almost came straight to you.”

 

“What stopped you?” Luke asks, a little surprised.  Poe chuckles, pulling back so he can look Luke in the face.  He strokes his fingers over the beard Luke has grown, looking a little surprised by it. 

 

“Believe it or not, Miss Oola was adamant that I carry on with my romantic gesture,” he admits.  “It turns out it’s very hard to argue with a woman who simply stops answering you back.  Though I feel someone should have warned me about this thing you’ve grown on your face.  Can I shave it off you soon?”

 

Luke laughs softly, still feeling stunned.  “You’re really here.”

 

“I’m here,” Poe promises, biting his lower lip uncertainly.  Luke leans in, kissing away the uncertainty, loving that Poe’s own desperation crawls into the kiss after a moment, their hands too tight on each other’s arms, Luke half sure he must be bruising Poe with his ferocity. 

 

“Please tell me you’re staying, for a little while at least,” Luke begs when they finally slip apart, panting for air, and Poe nods, hands shaking as they come up to stroke Luke’s face again.

 

“I’m staying for quite some time.  You cannot call me Commander any longer,” he informs Luke.  “I’ve retired my military commission and am serving as her majesty’s ambassador to England.  Plan A, completed.”

 

“Ambassador Dameron,” Luke says, feeling numb.  “Perhaps you should pinch me, I’m feeling a little like this might be a dream.”

 

“Then we’re sharing a dream,” Poe remarks, but he obligingly slides a hand down and pinches Luke’s ass, making the older man jump and scowl while Poe grins unrepentantly at him.  “Though I’d never have dreamed up _la barba_.”

 

“You hate it,” Luke guesses, and Poe considers it, leaning in and kissing him once more. 

 

“I’ll hold off on shaving you for now,” Poe replies.  “But it better not prove itchy the next time you use your mouth on me.” Luke chuckles, and just to prove Poe wrong, he brings his mouth down to Poe’s throat, drawing a low groan from Poe at the sensation.  “Then again, perhaps I could get used to that,” Poe concedes.

 

“So, League Spy Master, Ambassador, savior of two queens within a single year, what’s next for one of the most important spies in the world?” Luke asks, keeping the question light so Poe can ignore the real question underneath it if he wants.

 

“That’s easy,” Poe replies, voice surprisingly gruff.  “I assume your affections and wishes remain unchanged?”

 

Luke nods, mouth going dry when Poe smiles gently at him, his heart clearly written across his face as he steps back enough to take Luke’s left hand in his, drawing it to his mouth and brushing it with a feather light kiss.  “I, Poe Dameron,” the younger man begins, and Luke feels his heart pause in its natural rhythm for a moment.  “Take thee, Luke Skywalker, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, to death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

 

Luke laughs softly, a little disbelieving, then nods.  “I, Luke Skywalker, take thee, Poe Dameron, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, to cherish…” he trails off, giving Poe a weary look.  “I don’t care that you left the wife’s part to me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to promise to obey you and risk my beard.”  Poe chuckles, eyes sparkling with amusement.  “To death do us part, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

 

Poe hesitates, then chuckles.  “I feel like I’m waiting for someone to cue us, to pronounce it,” he admits, leaning in and resting his forehead against Luke’s.  “I wish I could offer you more.”

 

“All I need is you,” Luke replies.  He tilts his head, connecting his lips to Poe’s in a soft, searching kiss.  Poe pulls him in tighter, the kiss growing white hot and needy.  “God, Poe,” Luke groans, getting his hands on the rather fussy tie at Poe’s neck.  “You can’t go away that way again. Not for months on end.”

 

“No more,” Poe agrees, laughing as he tries to get his hands under Luke’s arms and get to his cravat.  “We stay together now, as often as possible.”

 

Luke squirms, not making it easy on Poe, laughing when he manages to remove Poe’s necktie and starts working on the waistcoat beneath his jacket.  “Getting ahead of me,” Poe complains, finally finding the pin holding the silk at Luke’s neck in place. 

 

“I hope you came with supplies,” Luke remarks, pushing Poe’s hands away so he can shove the coat and waistcoat down the other man’s arms.  “I believe I made you a promise before you left.”

 

“Of course I did,” Poe replies, giving up with a huff as Luke holds onto his hands so he can undo the cufflinks on his shirt.  “This is lovely, but I am not letting you fuck me till I get you naked and in my arms,” he informs Luke, who chuckles.

 

“Go on then, try to catch up,” Luke agrees, even as he goes to work on unbuttoning Poe’s shirt.  Poe makes quick work of the waistcoat then goes right to work on the shirt underneath, buttons slipping loose with surprising speed.  Luke struggles, laughing as Poe pushes him away this time, stripping off his coat, waistcoat and then making quick work of Luke’s cufflinks and shirt. 

 

Luke loses his focus, watching as Poe slips off his own shirt too, adding it to the mess of discarded clothes on the floor, before stepping closer.  Luke holds onto the calm moment, easing against Poe and kissing him slowly.  Poe gentles his touch, melting into Luke, like a long held breath being released.  “I love you,” Poe murmurs, trailing his fingers slowly up Luke’s arm, and Luke slips his hands to Poe’s back, palms pressing to the warm skin and settling his need a little more. 

 

“I love you, too,” Luke replies, stepping back and pulling Poe with him with each step until his legs hit the bed.  “You’ve sent everyone away?”

 

“For the rest of the week,” Poe agrees, sitting on the bed and tugging Luke down next to him.  “Even we deserve a wedding night, don’t you think?”

 

“Or four,” Luke remarks, but he smiles.  He tugs his boots off, then watches Poe make quick work of his own boots and breeches.  Poe leans over, starting to work on Luke’s while Luke carefully examines Poe’s body. 

 

“Not what you remember?” Poe asks, looking a little puzzled, and Luke pushes him back against the pillows, sliding his hand down Poe’s ribcage.

 

“You’re thin,” he observes.  “And…” he finally finds it, along Poe’s side, just above his hip.  The scar is about three inches long, a slender pale line along his side, but Luke knows the blade must have pierced deep.  “I stopped decoding your messages to Leia after this one,” Luke tells him, and Poe tilts Luke’s face up so he can softly kiss Luke. 

 

“I was careful, and I came home,” Poe reminds him.  “The thinness… well, let’s give Mrs. Tekka a week or two and I suspect that will solve itself as well.”

 

Luke accepts Poe’s kiss rather than dwell on it, though his hand curls protectively over Poe’s hip.  Poe tugs Luke closer, sliding his legs apart so Luke can lay on top of him, their groins meeting, the slow slide of their bodies arousing them both fully as they continue to kiss.  Every touch is slow and unhurried, and it’s almost a wrench to take his mouth from Poe’s, but he finally leans away.  “Oil?” he asks, and Poe leans up a little, reaching into the drawer in the bedside table.  The phial is rather large, and clinks against a couple others, and Luke smiles.  “Ambitious,” he comments, and Poe laughs.

 

“Not planning to leave you or this bedroom for anything other than meals,” he reminds Luke.  “Not for days.”

 

Poe lays back, scooting down a little as Luke slicks a finger.  “One at a time, slow and easy,” Poe says, eyes fluttering closed when Luke rubs his slick finger just against Poe’s hole, slow and teasing.  Luke moves slowly, slipping one finger inside.  Poe feels hot and tight, and he can’t even imagine what sinking himself inside will feel like.  He twists his finger carefully, then to help guide himself, brings his thumb up to the skin above the puckered skin, using the point he recalls all too well to guide his fingers and drawing an impressive cry from Poe.  “ _Madre de Dios_ , Luke, you overestimate how good my control is going to be after so long,” Poe complains, hands clenching the bedding.

 

Luke chuckles, even as he slicks another finger, adding it slowly.  “You taught me a good trick for that,” he remarks, once he’s sunk both fingers in fully, reaching up and wrapping his free fingers low around Poe’s cock and squeezing gently. 

 

“I despise how fast you learn,” Poe replies, breathless.  “Dammit, Luke, hurry up and get another finger in.  I need you to be fucking me already!”

 

Luke shifts his fingers, slowly making sure that he feels Poe opening under his touch before he finally adds a third finger, making sure Poe is open enough to take him.  He sees Poe pause a little as he slips three fingers deep inside, but then Poe relaxes again, his body opening for Luke beautifully.  “All right?” Luke murmurs the question, leaning up and kissing Poe as he slips his fingers free so he can slick himself. 

 

“I am now,” Poe replies, hands framing Luke’s face.  “Now that I’m with you.  God, I missed you, Luke.”

 

Luke guides his cock into Poe slowly, surprised when he slides in about halfway before Poe slows him, clearly enjoying pushing his limits.  Luke rocks forward slowly, a little at a time, keeping an eye on Poe’s face.  Poe gasps as Luke finishes sliding into him fully, reaching his own hand down to squeeze his own erection for a moment.  “God, Luke, so good,” he groans. 

 

“Not going to last long either,” Luke agrees, the feeling of Poe tight and hot around him almost too much.  “I should have let you convince me to do this sooner, you feel amazing, Poe.”

 

“Good, then fuck me,” Poe commands, and he clenches down a little, making Luke groan.  He wraps his hands under Poe’s shoulder blades, fingers wrapping tight over Poe’s shoulders, giving Luke leverage so he can slide his hips back until only the tip of his erection remains in Poe, then plunging forward, rocking Poe’s body with his thrust.  He groans as a rapid burst of absolutely filthy English and Spanish escapes Poe’s mouth.

 

He continues to thrust hard, but brings his mouth down to Poe’s, capturing most of the words and earning a hard nip to his lower lip when he gets the angle just right.  He spills inside Poe all too quickly, but has enough presence of mind to bring his hand down to help push Poe over the edge as well, spilling his seed all over Luke’s hand and their stomachs. 

 

He doesn’t want to move free of Poe, and judging by how the other man clings to him, holding him in place, Poe isn’t keen on the idea either.  “Do you need me to move?” he checks, and Poe sighs, shifting a little under him.

 

“No?” Poe tries, sighing when Luke slips free and pulls them both onto their sides.  “I’d forgotten how wonderful it feels to feel so claimed by someone,” he admits quietly.  His hands have found Luke’s face again, and Luke suspects this may be Poe’s way of reassuring himself that Luke is there.  He can’t exactly complain, his own hand covering the mark on Poe’s hip again. 

 

“We’ll have to take turns,” Luke replies, laughing as he leans in to kiss Poe.  “I can’t decide which I enjoy more, to be honest.”

 

“Fine by me,” Poe replies.  “Are you hungry?  Mrs. Tekka left several meals in the cold box and showed me how to heat the parts that require cooking.”

 

“Not yet,” Luke says softly, resting his forehead against Poe’s.  “Let’s just stay here a little longer.”

 

* * *

 

The staff seems to adapt all too quickly to having Poe around, Artie opening his mail and leaving it at his elbow without disturbing him while he paints, the room for his painting having been set up again soon after Poe’s arrival. 

 

Reverend Kenobi joins them for dinner on several occasions, and Poe still can’t quite make heads or tails of how fond of him the minister seems to be.  His first meal after Poe’s return, he spends a good deal of time musing on the story of David and Jonathan, and speaks a blessing, suspiciously close to a wedding prayer, over them.  Poe is amused and touched in turn.

 

But he doesn’t feel well settled until a little over a fortnight later, when a carriage trundles in through the snow up to the steps, the door flung open before the horses even come to a stop.

 

“Poe!” BB shrieks, tearing through the snow and crash landing against him as he laughs.  She looks an awful lot like a girl on her way to becoming a proper lady, but fortunately, the untamable curls are escaping their pins and her rather nice lavender wool dress is now damp from the knee down from the snow.  That’s his BB.

 

“Well, look at you, Miss Bernadette,” he laughs, swinging her up into a proper hug.  “I’ve missed you!”

 

“Is it true? You’re an ambassador now, so you don’t have to leave us for months and months and months anymore?”

 

“It’s true,” Poe confirms, hugging her again tightly.  “Go say hi to Luke, then we have to talk about this coroner thing you’ve been writing to me about.”

 

She bounces off, Luke still on the porch, and Poe accepts Rey’s only slightly more sedate hug.  “I am so glad you’re home,” she remarks.  “I couldn’t have handled another of you or Karé’s reports of being injured.”

 

“Next time you take me with you,” Finn insists, tugging Poe into a tight hug the moment Rey lets him go. 

 

“As I understand it, Ambassador Dameron will not be taking on a next time,” Rey remarks curtly.  “And he’ll be taking my uncle with him if he does.  You can come with me once I convince my mother to dispatch me after my brother.”

 

“No word?” Poe asks, and Rey makes a face.

 

“Mother will be on a return voyage from Denmark by now, I imagine she’ll probably rejoin us within another fortnight,” she informs him.  “He’s given us the slip again.  We’ll have a lot of reports to sort through, so perhaps we can catch up to him again soon.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Poe reminds her.  “Come inside, have lunch.  I know you’ve taken up residence for the winter nearby in one of the Solo properties, but maybe stay the evening?  I’ve missed you both, and Luke says you’ve got just as many stories about BB to tell me as he has had.”

 

Finn looks at Rey, and without speaking, they both fall into step with Poe, who directs the carriage toward the stables.   Luke waits at the door, taking his turn greeting Finn and Rey, and then walking with Poe into the house. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more great Victorian Acquaintance Cards and Flirtation Cards, go [here](https://www.flickr.com/photos/aemays/sets/72157626967453736/). Seriously, some of these are hysterical!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://serene-quill.tumblr.com/) and find a great deal of flailing and during the writing and art-ing pr nonsense between [Hatimoon](http://hatimoon.tumblr.com/) and I under my "Victorian" tag. I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as we did, and thanks so much for all the comments so many have you have left along the way!! It was beyond amazing that to know that anyone else wanted to come along on this nutty ride of ours!!


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